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ENDYMION. 


A  NOVEL. 


BY 


THE  RIGHT  HON.  BENJAMIN  DISRAELI, 

Earl  of  Beaconsfield^  K.  G.^ 


AUTHOR     OF    "  LOTHAIR,"    "  THE      YOUNG    DUKE,       "  VIVIAN     GREY, 
"  CONINGSBY,"    "  CONTARINI    FLEMING,"    ETC. 


^UIC^UID  AGUNT  HOMINESr 

BELFORD,   CLARKE,  &  CO., 

i8Si. 


i4Sc| 


i4t 


BELFORD,  CLARKE  &  CO. 


DoNOHUE  Jt  Henneberrt, 

PRINTERS  AND  BOOKBINDERS. 

CHICAGO. 


/^^/      ENDYMION.^ 

w^y    — - 

CHAPTER  I.  j 

It  was  a  rich,  warm  night  at  the  beginning  of  August, 
when  a  gentleman  enveloped  in  a  cloak — for  he  was  in  even- 
ing dress — emerged  from  a  club-house  at  the  top  of  St.  James's 
Street,  and  descended  that  celebrated  eminence.  He  had  not 
proceeded  more  than  half-way  down  the  street,  when,  encoun- 
tering a  friend,  he  stopped  with  some. abruptness. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,"  he  said. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  We  can  hardly  talk  about  it  here." 

"  Shall  we  go  to  White's  ?" 

"  I  have  just  left  it,  and,  between  ourselves,  I  would  rather 
we  should  be  more  alone.  'Tis  as  warm  as  noon.  Let  us 
cross  the  street  and  get  into  St.  James's  Place.  That  is  always 
my  idea  of  solitude." 

So  they  crossed  the  street,  and,  at  the  corner  of  St.  James's 
Place,  met  several  gentlemen  who  had  just  come  out  of 
Brookes's  Club-house.  These  saluted  the  companions  as  they 
passed,  and  said,  "  Capital  account  from  Chiswick — Lord 
Howard  says  the  chief  will  be  in  Downing  Street  on  Monday." 

"  It  is  of  Chiswick  that  I  am  going  to  speak  to  you,"  said 
the  gentleman  in  the  cloak,  putting  his  arm  in  that  of  his  com- 
panion as  they  walked  on.  "  What  I  am  about  to  tell  you  is 
known  only  to  three  persons,  and  is  the  most  sacred  of  secrets. 
Nothing  but  our  friendship  could  authorize  me  to  impart  it 
to  you." 

"  I  hope  it  is  something  to  your  advantage,"  said  his 
companion. 

"Nothing  of  that  sort;  it  is  of  yourself  that  I  am  thinking. 
Since  our  political  estrangement,  I  have  never  had  a  contented 
moment.  From  Christ  Church,  until  that  unhappy  paralytic 
stroke,  which  broke  up  a  government  that  had  lasted  fifteen 


6  END  r MI  ON, 

years,  and  might  have  continued  fifteen  more,  we  seemed  al- 
ways to  have  been  working  together.  That  we  should  again 
unite  is  my  dearest  wish.  A  crisis  is  at  hand.  I  want  you  to 
use  it  to  your  advantage.  Know,  then,  that  what  they  were 
just  saying  about  Chiswick  is  moonshine.  His  case  is  hopeless, 
and  it  has  been  communicated  to  the  king." 

"Hopeless!" 

"Rely  upon  it;  it  came  direct  from  the  Cottage  to  my 
friend." 

"  I  thought  he  had  a  mission  ?"  said  his  companion,  with 
emotion ;  "  and  men  with  missions  do  not  disappear  till  they 
have  fulfilled  them." 

"  But  why  did  you  think  so  ?  How  often  have  I  asked  you 
for  your  grounds  for  such  a  conviction !  There  are  none.  The 
man  of  the  age  is  clearly  the  duke,  the  savior  of  Europe,  in  the 
perfection  of  manhood,  and  with  an  iron  constitution." 

"  The  salvation  of  Europe  is  the  affair  of  a  past  generation," 
said  his  companion.  "We  want  something  else  now.  The 
salvation  of  England  should  be  the  subject  rather  of  our  pres- 
ent thoughts." 

"England!  why,  when  were  things  more  sound?  Except 
the  split  among  our  own  men,  which  will  be  now  cured,  there 
is  not  a  cause  of  disquietude." 

"  I  have  much,"  said  his  friend. 

"  You  never  used  to  have  any,  Sidney.  What  extraordinary 
revelations  can  have  been  made  to  you  during  three  months  of 
office  under  a  semi-Whig  Ministi-y?" 

"  Your  taunt  is  fair,  though  it  pains  me.  And  I  confess  to 
you  that  when  I  resolved  to  follow  Canning  and  join  his  new 
allies,  I  had  many  a  twinge.  I  was  bred  in  the  Tory  camp; 
the  Tories  put  me  in  Parliament  and  gave  me  office;  I  lived 
with  them  and  liked  them;  we  dined  and  voted  together,  and 
together  pasquinaded  our  opponents.  And  yet,  after  Castle- 
reagh's  death,  to  whom  like  yourself  I  was  much  attached,  I 
had  great  misgivings  as  to  the  position  of  our  party  and  the 
future  of  the  country.  I  tried  to  drive  them  from  my  mind, 
and  at  last  took  refuge  in  Canning,  who  seemed  just  the  man 
appointed  for  an  age  of  transition." 

"  But  a  transition  to  what?" 

"  Well,  his  foreign  policy  was  Liberal." 

"The  same  as  the  duke's;  the  same  as  poor  dear  Castle- 
reagh's.  Nothing  more  unjust  than  the  affected  belief  that 
there  was  any  difTercncc  between  them — a  ruse  of  the  Whigs 


END  TM I  ON.  7 

to  foster  discord  in  our  ranks.  And  as  for  domestic  affairs,  no 
one  is  stouter  against  Parliamentary  Reform,  while  he  is  for 
the  Church  and  no  surrender,  though  he  may  make  a  harmless 
speech  now  and  then,  as  many  of  us  do,  in  favor  of  Catholic 
claims." 

"  Well,  we  will  not  now  pursue  this  old  controversy,  my 
dear  Ferrars,  particularly  if  it  be  true,  as  you  say,  that  Mr. 
Canning  now  lies  upon  his  death-bed." 

"  If !     I  tell  you  at  this  very  moment  it  may  be  all  over." 

"  I  am  shaken  to  my  very  centre." 

"  It  is  doubtless  a  great  blow  to  you,"  rejoined  Mr.  Ferrars, 
"  and  I  wish  to  alleviate  it.  That  is  why  I  was  looking  for 
you.  The  king  will,  of  course,  send  for  the  duke;  but  I  can 
tell  you  there  will  be  a  disposition  to  draw  back  our  friends 
that  left  us,  at  least  the  younger  ones  of  promise.  If  you  are 
awake,  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  retain  your 
office." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  the  king  will  send  for  the  duke." 

"  It  is  certain." 

"  Well,"  said  his  companion,  musingly,  "  it  may  be  fancy, 
but  I  cannot  resist  the  feeling  that  this  country,  and  the  world 
generally,  are  on  the  eve  of  a  great  change — and  I  do  not 
think  the  duke  is  the  man  for  the  epoch." 

"I  see  no  reason  why  there  should  be  any  great  change; 
certainly  not  in  this  country,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars.  "  Here  we 
have  changed  everything  that  was  required.  Peel  has  settled 
the  criminal  law,  and  Huskisson  the  currency,  and  though  I  am 
prepared  myself  still  further  to  reduce  the  duties  on  foreign 
imports,  no  one  can  deny  that  on  this  subject  the  government 
is  in  advance  of  public  opinion." 

"  The  whole  affair  rests  on  too  contracted  a  basis,"  said  his 
companion.  "  We  are  habituated  to  its  exclusiveness,  and,  no 
doubt,  custom  in  England  is  a  power;  but  let  some  event  sud- 
denly occur  which  makes  a  nation  feel  or  think,  and  the  whole 
thing  might  vanish  like  a  dream." 

"What  can  happen?  Such  affairs  as  the  Luddites  do  not 
occur  tw^ice  in  a  century,  and  as  for  Spafields  riots,  they  are 
impossible  now  with  Peel's  new  police.  The  country  is  em- 
ployed and  prosperous,  and  were  it  not  so,  the  landed  interest 
would  always  keep  things  straight." 

"  It  is  powerful,  and  has  been  powerful  for  a  long  time;  but 
there  are  other  interests  besides  the  landed  interest  now." 

"Well,  there  is  the  colonial  interest,  and  the  shipping  inter- 


S  ENDTMION, 

est,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars,  "and  both  of  them  thoroughly  with  us.'^ 

**1  was  not  thinking  of  them,"  said  his  companion.  "It  is 
the  increase  of  population,  and  of  a  population  not  employed 
in  the  cultivation  of  the  soil,  and  all  the  consequences  of  such 
circumstances,  that  were  passing  over  my  mind." 

"Don't  you  be  too  doctrinaire,  my  dear  Sidney ;  you  and  I 
are  practical  men.  We  must  deal  with  the  existing,  the  ur- 
gent; and  there  is  nothing  more  pressing  at  this  moment  than 
the  formation  of  a  new  government.  What  I  want  is  to  see 
you  a  member  of  it. 

"Ah !"  said  his  companion,  with  a  sigh,  "do  you  really  think 
it  is  so  near  as  that?" 

"Why,  what  have  we  been  talking  of  all  this  time,  my  dear 
Sidney  ?  Clear  your  head  of  all  doubt,  and,  if  possible,  of  all 
regrets ;  we  must  deal  with  facts,  and  we  must  deal  with  them 
to-morrow." 

"I  still  think  he  had  a  mission,"  said  Sidney,  with  a  sigh,  "if 
it  were  only  to  bring  hope  to  a  people." 

"Well,  I  do  not  see  he  could  have  done  anything  more," 
said  Mr.  Ferrars,  "  nor  do  I  believe  his  government  would 
have  lasted  during  the  session.  However,  I  must  now  say 
good-night,  for  I  must  look  in  at  the  Square.  Think  well  of 
what  I  have  said,  and  let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  you 
can." 

CHAPTER  H. 

Zenobia  was  the  queen  of  London,  of  fashion,  and  of  the 
Tory  party.  When  she  was  not  holding  high  festivals,  or  at- 
tending them,  she  was  always  at  home  to  her  intimates,  and 
as  she  deigned  but  rarely  to  honor  the  assemblies  of  others 
with  her  presence,  she  was  generally  at  her  evening  post  to 
receive  the  initiated.  To  be  her  uninvited  guest  under  such 
circumstances  proved  at  once  that  you  had  entered  the  high- 
est circle  of  the  social  paradise. 

Zenobia  was  leaning  back  on  a  brilliant  sofa,  supported  by 
many  cushions,  and  a  great  personage,  gray-headed  and  blue- 
ribboned,  who  was  permitted  to  share  the  honors  of  the  high 
place,  was  hanging  on  her  animated  and  inspiring  accents. 
An  ambassador,  in  an  armed  chair  which  he  had  placed  some- 
what before  her,  while  he  listened  with  apparent  devotion  to 
the  oracle,  now  and  then  interposed  a  remark,  polished  and  oc- 
casionally cynical.  More  remote,  some  dames  of  high  degree 
were  surrounded  by  a  chosen  band  of  rank  and  fashion  and  celeb- 


END  r MI  ON,  9 

rity ;  and  now  and  then  was  heard  a  silver  laugh,  and  now  and 
then  was  breathed  a  gentle  sigh.  Servants  glided  about  the  suite 
of  summer  chambers  occasionally  with  sherbets  and  ices,  and 
sometimes  a  lady  entered  and  saluted  Zenobia,  and  then  re- 
treated to  the  general  group,  and  sometimes  a  gentleman  en- 
tered and  pressed  the  hand  of  Zenobia  to  his  lips,  and  then 
vanished  into  air. 

"What  I  want  you  to  see,"  said  Zenobia,  "is  that  reaction  is 
the'law  of  life,  and  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  great  reaction. 
Since  Lord  Castlereagh's  death  we  have  had  five  years  of  rev- 
olution— nothing  but  change,  and  every  change  has  been  dis- 
astrous. Abroad  we  are  in  leaguie  with  all  the  conspirators  of 
the  Continent,  and  if  there  were  a  general  war  we  should 
not  have  an  ally ;  at  home  our  trade,  I  am  told  is  quite  ruined, 
and  we  are  deluged  with  foreign  articles ;  while,  thanks  to  Mr. 
Huskisson,  the  country  banks,  which  enabled  Mr.  Pitt  to  carry 
on  the  war  and  saved  England,  are  all  broken.  There  was 
one  thing  of  which  I  thought  we  should  always  be 
proud,  and  that  was  our  laws  and  their  administration;  but 
now  our  most  sacred  enactments  are  questioned,  and  people 
are  told  to  call  out  for  the  reform  of  our  courts  of  judicature, 
which  used  to  be  the  glory  of  the  land.  This  cannot  last.  I 
see,  indeed,  many  signs  of  national  disgust;  people  would 
have  borne  a  great  deal  from  poor  Lord  Liverpool — for  they 
knew  he  was  a  good  man,  though  I  always  thought  a  weak 
one ;  but  when  it  was  found  that  this  boasted  Liberalism  only 
meant  letting  the  Whigs  into  office — who,  if  they  had  always 
been  in  office,  would  have  made  us  the*  slaves  of  Bonaparte — 
their  eyes  were  opened.  Depend  upon  it,  the  reaction  has 
commenced." 

"  We  shall  have  some  trouble  with  France,"  said  the  ambas- 
sador, "  unless  there  is  a  change  here." 

"  The  Church  is  weary  of  the  present  men,"  said  the  great 
personage.     "  No  one  really  knows  what  they  are  after." 

"  And  how  can  the  country  be  governed  without  the  Church?" 
exclaimed  Zenobia.  "  If  the  country  once  thinks  the  Church 
is  in  danger,  the  affiiir  will  soon  be  finished.  The  king  ought 
to  be  told  what  is  going  on." 

"Nothing  is  going  on,"  said  the  ambassador;  "but  every- 
body is  afraid  of  something." 

"  The  king's  friends  should  impress  upon  him  never  to  lose 
sight  of  the  landed  interest,"  said  the  great  personage. 

"  How  can  any  government  go  on  without  the   support  of 


lo  ENDTMION, 

the  Church  and  the  land?"  exclaimed  Zenobia.  "It  is  quite 
unnatural." 

"  That  is  the  mystery,"  remarked  the  ambassador.  "  Here 
is  a  government,  supported  by  none  of  the  influences  hitherto 
deemed  indispensable,  and  yet  it  exists." 

"  The  newspapers  support  it,"  said  the  great  personage, "  and 
the  Dissenters,  who  are  trying  to  bring  themselves  into  notice, 
and  who  are  said  to  have  some  influence  in  the  northern  coun- 
ties; and  the  Whigs,  who  are  in  a  hole,  are  willing  to  seize  the 
hand  of  the  ministry  to  help  them  out  of  it;  and  then  there  is  al- 
ways a  number  of  people  who  will  support  any  government — 
and  so  the  thing  works." 

"  They  have  got  a  new  name  for  this  hybrid  sentiment," 
said  the  ambassador.     "  They  call  it  public  opinion." 

"  How  very  absurd!"  said  Zenobia;  "a  mere  nickname.  As 
if  there  could  be  any  opinion  but  that  of  the  sovereign  and  the 
two  Houses  of  Parliament." 

"  They  are  trying  to  introduce  here  the  Continental  Liberal- 
ism," said  the  great  personage.  "Now  we  know  what  Liber- 
alism means  on  the  Continent.  It  means  the  abolition  of  prop- 
erty and  religion.  Those  ideas  would  not  suit  this  country; 
and  I  often  puzzle  myself  to  foresee  how  they  will  attempt  to 
apply  Liberal  opinions  here." 

"  I  shall  always  think,"  said  Zenobia,  "  that  Lord  Liverpool 
went  much  too  far,  though  I  never  said  so  in  his  time;  for  I 
always  uphold  my  friends." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  what  Canning  will  do  about  the  Test 
and  Corporation  Acts,"  said  the  great  personage.  "  I  under- 
stand they  rfiean  to  push  him." 

"  By-the-by,  how  is  he  really !"  said  the  ambassador.  "  What 
arc  the  accounts  this  afternoon !" 

"  Here  is  a  gentleman  who  will  tell  us,"  said  Zenobia,  as  Mr. 
Ferrars  entered  and  saluted  her." 

"And  what  is  your  news  from  Chiswick?"  she  inquired. 

"  They  say  at  Brookcs's  that  he  will  be  at  Downing  Street 
on  Monday." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Zenobia,  but  with  an  expression  of  disap- 
pointment. 

Zenobia  invited  Mr.  Ferrars  to  join  her  immediate  circle. 
The  great  personage  and  the  ambassador  were  confidentially 
affable  to  one  whom  Zenobia  so  distinguished.  Their  conver- 
sation was  in  hushed  tones,  as  become  the  initiated.  Even 
Zenobia  seemed  subdued,  and  listened ;  and  to  listen,  among 


ENDTMION.  II 

her  many  talents,  was  perhaps  her  rarest.  Mr.  Ferrars  was 
one  of  her  favorites,  and  Zenobia  liked  young  men  who  she 
thought  would  become  ministers  of  State. 

A  Hungarian  princess,  who  had  quitted  the  opera  early  that 
she  might  look  in  at  Zenobia's,  was  now  announced.  The  ar- 
vival  of  this  great  lady  made  a  stir.  Zenobia  embraced  her,  and 
the  great  personage  with  affectionate  homage  yielded  to  her 
instantly  the  place  of  honor,  and  then  soon  retreated  to  the 
laughing  voices  in  the  distance  that  had  already  more  than 
once  attracted  and  charmed  his  ear. 

"Mind;  I  see  you  to-morrow,"  said  Zenobia  to  Mr.  Ferrars, 
as  he  also  withdrew.     "  I  shall  have  something  to  tell  you," 

CHAPTER  in. 

The  father  of  Mr.  Ferrars  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  son 
of  a  once  somewhat  celebrated  statesman,  but  the  only  patrimony 
he  inherited  from  his  presumed  parent  was  a  clerkship  in  the 
Treasury,  where  he  found  himself  drudging  at  an  early  age. 
Nature  had  endowed  him  with  considerable  abilities,  and  pe- 
culiarly adapted  to  the  scene  of  their  display.  It  was  difficult 
to  decide  which  was  most  remarkable,  his  shrewdness  or  his 
capacity  ot  labor.  His  quickness  of  perception  and  mastery 
of  details  made  him  in  a  few  years  an  authority  in  the  office 
and  a  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  who  was  quite  ignorant  of 
details,  but  who  was  a  good  judge  of  human  character,  had 
the  sense  to  appoint  Ferrars  his  private  secretary.  This  hap- 
py preferment  in  time  opened  the  whole  official  world  to  one 
not  only  singularly  qualified  for  that  kind  of  life,  but  who 
possessed  the  peculiar  gifts  that  were  then  commencing  to  be 
much  in  demand  in  those  circles.  We  were  then  entering  that 
era  of  commercial  and  financial  reform  which  had  been,  if  not 
absolutely  occasioned,  certainly  precipitated  by  the  revolt  of 
our  colonies.  Knowledge  of  finance  and  acquaintance  with 
tariffs  were  then  rare  gifts,  and  before  five  years  of  his  pri- 
vate secretaryship  had  expired,  Ferrars  was  mentioned  to  Mr. 
Pitt  as  the  man  at  the  Treasury  who  could  do  something  that 
the  great  minister  required.  This  decided  his  lot.  Mr.  Pitt 
found  in  Ferrars  the  instrument  he  wanted,  and,  appreci- 
ating all  his  qualities,  placed  him  in  a  position  which  afforded 
them  full  play.  The  minister  returned  Ferrars  to  Parlia- 
ment, for  the  Treasury  then  had  boroughs  of  its  own,  and  the 
new   member  was  preferred  to    an  important  and    laborious 


13  ENDTMION, 

post.  So  long^  as  Pitt  and  Grenville  were  in  the  ascendent, 
Mr.  Ferrars  toiled  and  flourished.  He  was  exactly  the  man 
they  liked — unwearied,  vigilant,  clear,  and  cold,  with  a  dash  of 
natural  sarcasm  developed  by  a  sharp  and  varied  experience, 
lie  disappeared  from  the  active  world  in  the  latter  years  of  the 
Liverpool  reign,  when  a  newer  generation  and  more  bustling 
ideas  successfully  asserted  their  claims ;  but  he  retired  with  the 
solace  of  a  sinecure,  a  pension,  and  a  privy-councillorship. 
The  cabinet  he  had  never  entered,  nor  dared  to  hope  to  enter. 
It  was  the  privilege  of  an  inner  circle  even  in  our  then  con- 
tracted public  life.  It  was  the  dream  of  Ferrars  to  revenge  in 
this  respect  his  fate  in  the  person  of  his  son  and  only  child. 
He  was  resolved  that  his  offspring  should  enjoy  all  those  ad- 
vantages of  education  and  breeding  and  society  of  which  he 
himself  had  been  deprived.  For  him  was  to  be  reserved  a 
full  initiation  in  those  costly  ceremonies  which,  under  the 
names  of  Eton  and  Christchurch,  in  his  time  fascinated  and 
dazzled  mankind.  His  son,  William  Pitt  Ferrars,  realized 
even  more  than  his  father's  hopes.  Extremely  good  looking, 
he  was  gifted  with  a  precocity  of  talent.  He  was  the  mar- 
vel of  Eton  and  the  hope  of  Oxford.  As  a  boy,  his  Latin 
verses  threw  enraptured  tutors  into  paroxysms  of  praise,  while 
debating-societies  hailed  with  acclamation  clearly  another 
heaven-born  minister.  He  went  up  to  Oxford  about  the  time 
that  the  examinations  were  reformed  and  rendered  really  effi- 
cient. This  only  increased  his  renown,  for  the  name  of  Fer- 
rars figured  among  the  earliest  double-firsts.  Those  were  days 
when  a  crack  university  reputation  often  opened  the  doors  of 
the  House  of  Commons  to  a  young  aspirant — at  least,  after  a 
season.  But  Ferrars  had  not  to  wait.  His  father,  who 
watched  his  career  with  the  passionate  interest  with  which  a 
Newmarket  man  watches  the  development  of  some  gifted 
yearling,  took  care  that  all  the  odds  should  be  in  his  favor  in 
the  race  of  life.  An  old  colleague  of  the  elder  Mr.  Ferrars, 
a  worthy  peer  with  many  boroughs,  placed  a  seat  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  youthful  hero  the  moment  he  was  prepared  to 
accept  it,  and  he  might  be  said  to  have  left  the  university 
only  to  enter  the  House  of  Commons. 

There,  if  his  career  had  not  yet  realized  the  dreams  of  his 
youthful  admirers,  it  had  at  least  been  one  of  progress  and 
unbroken  prosperity.  His  first  speech  was  successful,  though 
florid,  but  it  was  on  foreign  affairs,  which  permit  rhetoric,  and 
in  those  days  demanded  at  least  one  Virgilian  quotation.     In 


ENDT'MION,  15 

this  latter  branch  of  oratorical  adornment  Ferrars  was  never 
deficient.  No  young  man  of  that  time,  and  scarcely  any  old 
one,  ventured  to  address  Mr.  Speaker  without  being  equipped 
with  a  Latin  passage.  Ferrars,  in  this  respect,  was  triply 
armed.  Indeed,  when  he  entered  public  life,  full  of  hope  and 
promise,  though  disciplined  to  a  certain  extent  by  his  mathe- 
matical training,  he  had  read  very  little  more  than  some  Latin 
writers,  some  Greek  plays,  and  some  treatises  of  Aristotle. 
These,  with  a  due  course  of  Bampton  Lectures,  and  some  dip- 
ping into  the  Quarterly  Review^  then  in  its  prime,  qualified  a 
man  in  those  days,  not  only  for  being  a  member  of  Parliament, 
but  becoming  a  candidate  for  the  responsibility  of  statesman- 
ship. Ferrars  made  his  way ;  for  two  years  he  was  occasionally 
asked  by  the  minister  to  speak,  and  then  Lord  Castlereagh, 
who  liked  young  men,  made  him  a  lord  of  the  Treasury.  He 
was  Under-Secretary  of  State,  and  "  very  rising,"  when  the 
death  of  Lord  Liverpool  brought  about  the  severance  of  the 
Tory  party,  and  Mr.  Ferrars,  mainly  under  the  advice  of 
Zenobia,  resigned  his  office  when  Mr.  Canning  was  appointed 
minister,  and  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  great  destiny  of  the  Duke 
of  Wellington. 

The  elder  Ferrars  had  the  reputation  of  being  wealthy.  It 
was  supposed  that  he  had  enjoyed  opportunities  of  making 
money  and  had  availed  himself  of  them,  but  this  was  not  true. 
Though  a  cynic,  and  with  little  respect  for  his  fellow-creatures, 
Ferrars  had  a  pride  in  official  purity,  and  when  the  govern- 
ment was  charged  with  venality  and  corruption,  he  would 
observe,  with  a  dry  chuckle,  that  he  had  seen  a  great  deal  of 
life,  and  that  for  his  part  he  would  not  much  trust  any  man  out 
of  Downing  Street.  He  had  been  unable  to  resist  the  tempta- 
tion of  connecting  his  life  with  that  of  an  individual  of  birth 
and  rank;  and  in  a  weak  moment,  perhaps  his  only  one,  he 
had  geiven  his  son  a  step-mother,  in  a  still  good-looking  and 
very    xpensive  viscountess  dowager. 

Mr  Ferrars  was  anxious  that  his  son  should  make  a  great 
allian.ce,  but  he  was  so  distracted  between  prudential  considera- 
tions and  his  desire  that  in  the  veins  of  his  grandchildren  there 
should  flow  blood  of  undoubted  nobility,  that  he  could  never 
bring  to  his  purpose  that  clear  and  concentrated  will  which 
was  one  of  the  causes  of  his  success  in  life;  and,  in  the  midst  of 
his  perplexities,  his  son  unexpectedly  settled  the  question  him- 
self. Though  naturally  cold  and  calculating,  William  Ferrars 
like  most  of  us,  had  a  vein  of  romance  in  his  being,  and  it 


14  END  r MI  ON, 

asserted  itself.  There  was  a  Miss  Carey  who  suddenly 
became  the  beauty  of  the  season.  She  was  an  orphan,  and 
reputed  to  be  no  inconsiderable  heiress,  and  was  introduced  to 
the  world  by  an  aunt  who  was  a  duchess,  and  who  meant  that 
her  niece  should  be  the  same.  Everybody  talked  about  them, 
and  they  went  everywhere — among  other  places  to  the  House 
of  Commons,  where  Miss  Carey,  spying  the  senators  from  the 
old  ventilator  in  the  ceiling  of  St.  Stephen's  Chapel,  dropped 
in  her  excitement  her  opera-glass,  which  fell  at  the  feet  of  Mr. 
Under-secretary  Ferrars.  He  hastened  to  restore  it  to  its 
beautiful  owner,  whom  he  found  accompanied  by  several  of 
his  friends,  and  he  was  not  only  thanked,  but  invited  to 
remain  with  them;  and  the  next  day  he  called,  and  he  called 
very  often  afterwards,  and  many  other  things  happened,  and 
at  the  end  of  July,  the  beauty  of  the  season  was  married,  not 
to  a  duke,  but  to  a  rising  man,  who  Zenobia,  who  at  first  dis- 
approved of  the  match — for  Zenobia  never  liked  her  male 
friends  to  marry — was  sure  would  be  one  day  prime-minister 
of  England. 

Mrs.  Ferrars  was  of  the  same  opinion  as  Zenobia,  for  she 
was  ambitious,  and  the  dream  was  captivating.  And  Mrs. 
Ferrars  soon  gained  Zenobia's  good  graces,  for  she  had  many 
charms,  and,  though  haughty  to  the  multitude,  was  a  first-rate 
flatterer.  Zenobia  liked  flattery,  and  always  said  she  did.  Mr. 
Under-Secretary  Ferrars  took  a  mansion  in  Hill  Street,  and 
furnished  it  with  befitting  splendor.  His  dinners  were  cele- 
brated, and  Mrs.  Ferrars  gave  suppers  after  the  opera.  The 
equipages  of  Mrs.  Ferrars  were  distinguished,  and  they  had  a 
large  retinue  of  servants.  They  had  only  two  children,  and 
they  were  twins,  a  brother  and  a  sister,  who  were  brought  up 
like  the  children  of  princes.  Partly  for  them,  and  partly 
because  a  minister  should  have  a  Tusculum,  the  Ferrars  soon 
engaged  a  magnificent  villa  at  Wimbledon,  which  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  admirable  stables,  convenient,  as  Mrs.  Ferrars  was 
fond  of  horses,  and  liked  the  children,  too,  with  their  fancy 
ponies,  to  be  early  accustomed  to  riding.  All  this  occasioned 
expenditure,  but  old  Mr.  Ferrars  made  his  son  a  liberal  al- 
lowance, and  young  Mrs.  Ferrars  was  an  heiress,  or  the  world 
thought  so,  which  is  nearly  the  same,  and  then,  too,  young  Mr. 
Ferrars  was  a  rising  man,  in  office,  and  who  would  always  be 
in  office  for  the  rest  of  his  life;  at  least,  Zenobia  said  so,  because 
he  was  on  the  right  side  and  the  Whigs  were  nowhere,  and 
never  would  be  anywhere,  which  was  quite  right,  as  they  had 
wished  to  make  us  the  slaves  of  Bonaparte. 


ENDTMION,  17 

"  My  dear,  you  know  I  do  not  understand  money  matters," 
Zenobia  said  in  reply.  "  I  never  could;  but  you  should  remem- 
ber that  old  Ferrars  must  be  very  rich,  and  that  William  Fer- 
rars  is  the  most  rising  man  of  the  day,  and  is  sure  to  be  in  the 
cabinet  before  he  is  forty." 

Everybody  had  an  appetite  for  dinner  to-day,  and  the  din- 
ner was  worthy  of  the  appetites.  Zenobia's  husband  declared 
to  himself  that  he  never  dined  90  well,  though  he  gave  his 
chef  X500  a  year;  and  old  Lord  Fomeroy,  who  had  not  yet 
admitted  French  wines  to  his  own  table,  seemed  quite  abashed 
with  the  number  of  his  wine-glasses,  and  their  various  colors; 
and,  as  he  tasted  one  succulent  dish  after  another,  felt  a  proud 
satisfaction  in  having  introduced  to  public  life  so  distinguished 
a  man  as  William  Ferrars. 

With  the  dessert,  not  without  some  ceremony,  were  intro- 
duced the  two  most  remarkable  guests  of  the  entertainment, 
and  these  were  the  twins;  children  of  singular  beauty,  and 
dressed,  if  possible,  more  fancifully  and  brilliantly  than  their 
mamma.  They  resembled  each  other,  and  had  the  same  bril- 
liant complexions,  rich  chestnut  hair,  delicately  arched  brows, 
and  dark  blue  eyes.  Though  only  eight  years  of  age,  a  most 
unchildlike  self-possession  distinguished  them.  The  expression 
of  their  countenances  was  haughty,  disdainful  and  supercilious. 
Their  beautiful  features  seemed  quite  unimpassioned,  and  they 
moved  as  if  they  expected  everything  to  yield  to  them.  The 
girl,  whose  long  ringlets  were  braided  with  pearls,  was  ushered 
to  a  seat  next  to  her  father,  and,  like  her  brother,  who  was 
placed  by  Mrs.  Ferrars,  was  soon  engaged  in  negligently  tast- 
ing delicacies,  while^she  seemed  apparently  unconscious  of  any 
one  being  present,  except  when  she  replied  to  those  who 
addressed  her  with  a  stare  and  a  haughty  monosyllable.  The 
boy,  in  a  black  velvet  jacket,  with  large  Spanish  buttons  of  sil- 
ver filagree,  a  shirt  of  lace,  and  a  waistcoat  of  white  satin, 
replied  with  reserve,  but  some  condescension,  to  the  good-na- 
tured but  half-humorous  inquiries  of  the  husband  of  Zenobia. 

"  And  when  do  you  go  to  school  ?"  asked  his  lordship  in  a 
kind  voice  and  with  a  laughing  eye. 

"  I  shall  go  to  Eton  in  two  years,"  replied  the  child  without 
the  slightest  emotion,  and  not  w^ithdrawing  his  attention  from 
the  grapes  he  was  tasting,  or  even  looking  at  his  inquirer, 
"  and  then  I  shall  go  to  Christchurch,  and  then  I  shall  go  into 
Parliament." 

"  Myra,"  said  an  intimate  of  the  family,  a  handsome  private 


i8  ENDTMION. 

secretary  of  Mr.  Ferras,  to  the  daughter  of  the  house,  as  he 
supplied  her  plate  with  some  choicest  delicacies,  "  I  hope  you 
have  not  forgotten  your  engagement  to  me  which  you  made 
at  Wimbledon  two  years  ago?" 

"  What  engagement?"  she  haughtily  inquired. 

"  To  marry  me." 

"  I  should  not  think  of  marrying  any  one  who  is  not  in  the 
House  of  Lords,"  she  replied,  "  and  she  shot  at  hun  a  glance 
of  contempt. 

The  ladies  rose.  As  they  were  ascending  the  stairs,  one  of 
them  said  to  Mrs.  Ferrars,  "  Your  son's  name  is  very  pretty, 
but  it  is  very  uncommon,  is  it  not?" 

"  'Tis  a  family  name.  The  first  Carey  who  bore  it  was  a 
courtier  of  Charles  the  First,  and  we  have  never  since  beeu 
without  it.  William  wanted  our  boy  to  be  christened  Pom- 
eroy,  but  I  was  always  resolved,  if  I  ever  had  a  son,  that  he 
should  be  named  Endymion. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

About  the  time  that  the  ladies  rose  from  the  dinner-table 
in  Hill  Street,  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  entered  the  hall  of  the 
Clarendon  Hotel  and  murmered  an  inquiry  of  the  porter. 
Whereupon  a  bell  was  rung,  and  soon  a  foreign  servant  ap- 
peared, and  bowing,  invited  Mr.  Wilton  to  ascend  the  stair- 
case and  follow  him.  Mr.  Wilton  was  ushered  through  an 
antechamber,  into  a  room  of  some  importance,  lofty  and  dec- 
orated, and  obviously  adapted  for  distinguished  guests.  On  a 
principal  table  a  desk  was  open  and  many  papers  strewn 
about.  Apparently  some  person  had  only  recently  been  writ- 
ing there.  There  were  in  the  room  several  musical  instru- 
ments; the  piano  was  open,  there  was  a  harp  and  a  guitar. 
The  room  was  rather  dimly  lighted,  but  cheerful  from  the 
steady  blaze  of  the  fire,  before  which  Mr.  Wilton  stood  not 
long  alone,  for  an  opposite  door  opened,  and  a  lady  advanced 
leading  with  her  left  hand  a  youth  of  interesting  mien  and 
about  twelve  years  of  age.  The  lady  was  fair  and  singularly 
thin.  It  seemed  that  her  delicate  hand  must  really  be  trans- 
parent. Her  cheek  was  sunk,  but  the  expression  of  her  large 
brown  eyes  was  inexpressibly  plcasipg.  She  wore  her  own 
hair,  once  the  most  celebrated  in  Europe,  and  still  uncovered. 
Though  the  prodigal  richness  of  the  tresses  had  disappeared, 
the  arrangement  was  still  striking  from  its  grace.     That  rare 


nNDTMION,  19 

quality  pervaded  the  being  of  this  lady  and  it  was  impossible 
not  to  be  struck  with  her  carriage  as  she  advanced  to  meet  her 
guest;  free  from  all  affectation  and  yet  full  of  movement  and 
gestures  which  might  have  been  the  study  of  painters. 

"  Ah!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  which  he 
pressed  to  his  lips,  "  you  are  ever  faithful." 

Seating  themselves,  she  continued,  "  You  have  not  seen  my 
boy  since  he  sat  upon  your  knee.  Florestan,  salute  Mr.  Wil- 
ton, your  mother's  most  cherished  friend." 

"  This  is  a  sudden  arrival,"  said  Mr.  Wilton. 

"  Well,  they  would  not  let  us  rest,"  said  the  lady.  "  Our 
only  refuge  was  Switzerland,  but  1  cannot  breathe  among  the 
mountains,  and  so,  after  a  while  we  stole  to  an  obscure  corner 
of  the  South,  and  for  a  time  we  were  tranquil.  But  soon  the 
old  story:  representations,  remonstrances,  warnings,  and 
threats,  appeals  to  Vienna,  and  lectures  from  Prince  Metter- 
nich,  not  the  less  impressive  because  they  were  courteous,  and 
even  gallant." 

"  And  had  nothing  occurred  to  give  a  color  to  such  com- 
plaints ?     Or  was  it  sheer  persecution  ?" 

"  Well,  you  know,"  replied  the  lady,  "  we  wished  to  remain 
quiet  and  obscure;  but  wherever  the  lad  is,  they  will  find  him 
out.  It  often  astonishes  me.  I  believe  if  we  were  in  the  cen- 
tre of  a  forest  in  some  Indian  isle,  with  no  companions  but 
monkeys  and  elephants,  a  secret  agent  would  appear — some 
devoted  victim  of  our  family,  prepared  to  restore  our  fortunes 
and  renovate  his  own.  I  speak  the  truth  to  you  always.  I 
have  never  countenanced  these  people ;  I  have  never  encour- 
aged them ;  but  it  is  impossible  rudely  to  reject  the  sympathy 
of  those  who,  after  all,  are  your'fellow-sufferers,  and  some  of 
whom  have  given  proof  of  even  disinterested  devotion.  For 
my  own  part,  I  have  never  faltered  in  my  faith  that  Florestan 
would  some  day  sit  on  the  throne  of  his  father,  dark  as  ap- 
pears to  be  our  life ;  but  I  have  never  much  believed  that  the 
great  result  could  be  occasioned  or  precipitated  by  intrigues, 
but  rather  by  events  more  powerful  than  man,  and  led  on  by 
that  fatality  in  which  his  father  believed." 

"And  now  you  think  of  remaining  here?"  said  Mr.  Wilton. 

"  No,"  said  the  lady ;  that  I  cannot  do.  .  I  love  everything  in 
this  country  except  its  climate  and,  perhaps,  its  hotels.  I  think 
of  trying  the  south  of  Spain,  and  fancy,  if  quite  alone,  I  might 
vegetate  there  unnoticed.  I  cannot  bring  myself  altogether 
to  quit  Europe.     I  am^  my  dear  Sidney,  intensely  European, 


20  ENDTMION. 

But  Spain  is  not  exactly  the  country  I  should  fix  upon  to  form 
kings  and  statesmen.  And  this  is  the  point  on  which  I  wished 
to  consult  you.  I  want  Florestan  to  receive  an  English  educa- 
tion, and  I  want  you  to  put  me  in  the  way  of  accomplishing 
this.  It  might  be  convenient,  under  such  circumstances,  that 
he  should  not  obtrude  his  birth — perhaps,  that  it  should  be 
concealed.  He  has  many  honorable  names  besides  the  one 
which  indicates  the  state  to  which  he  was  born.  But,  on  all 
these  points,  we  want  your  advice."  And  she  seemed  to  ap- 
peal to  her  son,  who  bowed  his  head  with  a  slight  smile,  but 
did  not  speak. 

Mr.  Wilton  expressed  his  deep  interest  in  her  wishes,  and 
promised  to  consider  how  they  might  best  be  accomplished, 
and  then  the  conversation  took  a  more  general  tone. 

"  This  change  of  government  in  your  country,"  said  the 
lady,  "so  unexpected,  so  utterly  unforeseen,  disturbs  me;  in 
fact  it  decided  my  hesitating  movements.  I  cannot  but  believe 
that  the  accession  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  to  power  must 
be  bad,  at  least  for  us.  It  is  essentially  reactionary.  They  are 
triumphing  at  Vienna." 

"  Have  they  cause  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wilton.  "  I  am  an  impartial 
witness,  for  I  have  no  post  in  the  new  administration;  but  the 
leading  colleagues  of  Mr.  Canning  form  part  of  it,  and  the  con- 
duct of  foreign  affairs  remains  in  the  same  hands." 

"  That  is  consoling,"  said  the  lady.  "  I  wonder  if  Lord 
Dudley  would  see  me.  Perhaps  not.  Ministers  do  not  love 
pretenders.  I  knew  him  when  I  Was  not  a  pretender,"  ad- 
ded the  lady  with  the  sweetest  of  smiles,  "  and  thought  him 
agreeable.  He  was  witty.  Ah!  Sidney,  those  were  happy 
days.  I  look  back  to  the  past  with  regret,  but  without  remorse. 
One  might  have  done  more  good,  but  one  did  some;"  and  she 
sighed. 

"  You  seemed  to  me,"  said  Sidney,  with  emotion,  "  to  dif- 
fuse benefits  and  blessings  among  all  around  you." 

"  And  I  read,"  said  the  lady,  a  little  indignant,  "  in  some 
memoirs,  the  other  day,  that  our  court  was  a  corrupt  and  disso- 
hitc  court.  It  was  a  court  of  pleasure,  if  you  like;  but  of  plea- 
sure that  animated  and  refined,  and  put  the  world  in  good 
humor,  which,  after  all  is  good  government.  The  most  cor- 
rupt and  dissolute  courts  on  the  continent  of  Europe  that  I  have 
known,"  said  the  lady,  "  have  been  outwardly  the  dullest  and 
most  decorous." 


ENDTMION.  21 

"  My  memory  of  those  days,"  said  Mr.  Wilton, "  is  of  cease- 
less grace  and  inexhaustible  charm." 

"  Well,  said  the  lady,  "  if  I  sinned,  I  have  at  least  suffered. 
And  I  hope  they  were  only  sins  of  omission.  I  wanted  to  see 
everybody  happy,  and  tried  to  make  them  so.  But  let  us  talk 
no  more  of  ourselves.  The  unfortunate  are  always  egotistical. 
Tell  me  something  of  Mr.  Wilton;  and,  above  all,  tell  me  why 
you  are  not  in  the  new  government  ? " 

"  I  have  not  been  invited,"  said  Mr.  Wilton.  "  There  are 
more  claimants  than  can  be  satisfied,  and  my  claims  are  not 
very  strong.  It  is  scarcely  a  disappointment  to  me.  I  shall 
continue  in  public  life ;  but,  so  far  as  political  responsibility  is 
concerned,  I  would  rather  wait.  I  have  some  fancies  on  that 
head,  but  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  them.  My  time,  there- 
fore, is  at  my  command;  and  so,"  he  added,  smilingly,  "I  can 
attend  to  the  education  of  Prince  Florestan." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Florestan  ?"  said  the  lady  to  her  son ; 
"  I  told  you  we  had  a  friend.     Thank  Mr.  Wilton." 

And  the  young  prince  bowed  as  before,  but  with  a  more 
serious  expression.     He,  however,  said  nothing. 

"  I  see  you  have  not  forgotten  your  most  delightful  pursuit," 
said  Mr.  Wilton,  and  he  looked  towards  the  musical  instruments. 

"No,"  said  the  lady,"  throned  or  discrowned,  music  has  ever 
been  the  charm  or  consolation  of  my  life." 

"Pleasure  should  follow  business,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  and 
we  have  transacted  ours.  Would  it  be  too  bold  if  I  asked 
again  to  hear  those  tones  which  have  so  often  enchanted  me  ?" 

"  My  voice  has  not  fallen  off,"  said  the  lady,  "  for  you  know 
it  was  never  first  rate.  But  they  were  kind  enough  to  say  it 
had  some  expression,  probably  because  I  generally  sang  my 
own  words  to  my  own  music.  I  will  sing  you  my  farewell  to 
Florestan,"  she  added,  gayly,  and  she  took  up  her  guitar,  and 
then  in  tones  of  melancholy  sweetness,  breaking  at  last  into  a 
gushing  burst  of  long-controlled  affection,  she  expressed  the 
agony  and  devotion  of  a  mother's  heart.  Mr.  Wilton  was  a 
little  agitated;  her  son  left  the  room.  The  mother  turned 
round  with  a  smiling  face,  and  said,  "  The  darling  cannot  bear 
to  hear  it,  but  I  sing  it  on  purpose,  to  prepare  him  for  the  in- 
evitable." 

"  He  is  soft-hearted,"  said  Mr.  Wilton. 

"  He  is  the  most  affectionate  of  beings,"  replied  the  mother. 
"  Affectionate  and  mysterious.  I  can  say  no  more.  I  ought  to 
tell  you  his  character.     I  cannot.     You  may  say  he  may  have 


22  ENDTMION, 

none.  I  do  not  know.  He  has  abilities,  for  he  acquires  "knowl- 
edge with  facility,  and  knows  a  great  deal  for  a  boy.  But  he 
never  gives  an  opinion.  He  is  silent  and  solitary.  Poor  dar- 
ling! he  has  rarely  had  companions,  and  that  may  be  the  cause. 
He  seems  to  me  always  to  be  thinking." 

"  Well,  a  public  school  will  rouse  him  from  his  reveries." 

"  As  he  is  away  at  this  moment,  I  will  say  that  which  I 
should  not  care  to  say  before  his  face,"  said  the  lady.  "  You 
are  about  to  do  me  a  great  service,  not  the  first ;  and  before  I- 
leave  this,  we  may — we  must — meet  again  more  than  once, 
but  there  is  no  time  like  the  present.  The  separation  between 
Florestan  and  myself  may  be  final.  It  is  sad  to  think  of  such 
things,  but  they  must  be  thought  of,  for  they  are  probable.  I 
still  look  in  a  mirror,  Sidney.  I  am  not  so  frightened  by  what 
has  occurred  since  we  first  met,  to  be  afraid  of  that — but  I  never 
deceive  myself.  I  do  not  know  what  may  be  the  magical  effect 
of  the  raisins  of  Malaga,  but  if  it  save  my  life  the  grape-cure 
will,  indeed,  achieve  a  miracle.  Do  not  look  gloomy.  Those 
who  have  known  real  grief  seldom  seem  sad.  I  have  been 
struggling  with  sorrow  for  ten  years,  but  I  have  got  through 
it  with  music  and  singing,  and  my  boy.  See  now,  he  will  be 
a  source  of  expense,  and  it  will  not  do  for  you  to  be  looking  to 
a  woman  for  supplies.  Women  are  generous  but  not  precise 
in  money  matters.  I  have  some  excuse,  for  the  world  has 
treated  me  not  very  well.  I  never  got  my  pension  regularly ; 
now  I  nev^r  get  it  at  all.  So  much  for  the  treaties,  but  every- 
body laughs,  at  them.  Here  is  the  fortune  of  Florestan,  and  I 
wish  it  all  to  be  spent  on  his  education,"  and  she  took  a  case 
from  her  bosom.  "  They  are  not  the  crown  jewels  though. 
The  memoirs  I  was  reading  the  other  day,  say  I  ran  away 
with  them.  That  is  false  like  most  things  said  of  me.  But 
these  are  gems  of  Golconda,  which  I  wish  you  to  realize  and 
expend  for  his  service.  They  were  the  gift  of  love,  and  they 
were  worn  in  love." 

"It  is  unnecessary,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  deprecating  the  offer 
by  his  attitude, 

"  Hush!"  said  the  lady,  "  I  am  still  a  sovereign  to  you,  and 
I  must  be  obeyed." 

Mr.  Wilton  took  the  case  of  jewels,  pressed  it  to  his  lips, 
and  then  placed  it  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat.  He  was 
about  to  retire  when  the  lady  added,  "  I  must  give  you  this 
copy  of  my  song." 

♦*  And  you  will  write  my  name  on  it?" 


END  r MI  ON,  23 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  lady,  as  she  went  to  the  table   and 
wrote,  "  For  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  from  Agrippina." 


CHAPTER  V. 

In  the  meantime,  power  and  prosperity  clustered  round  the 
roof  and  family  of  Ferrars.  He  himself  was  in  the  prime  of 
manhood,  with  an  exalted  position  in  the  world  of  politics, 
aud  with  a  prospect  of  the  highest.  The  government  of 
which  he  was  a  member  was  not  only  deemed'strong,  but  eter- 
nal. The  favor  of  the  court  and  the  confidence  of  the  coun- 
try were  alike  lavished  on  it.  The  government  of  the  duke 
could  only  be  measured  by  his  life,  and  his  influence  was  irre- 
sistible. It  was  a  dictatorship  of  patriotism.  The  country,  long 
accustomed  to  a  strong  and  undisturbed  administration,  and 
frightened  by  the  changes  and  catastrophes  w^hich  had  fol- 
lowed the  retirement  of  Lord  Liverpool,  took  refuge  in  the 
powerful  will  and  splendid  reputation  of  a  real  hero. 

Mrs.  Ferrars  was  as  ambitious  of  social  distinction  as  her 
husband  was  of  political  power.  She  was  a  woman  of  taste, 
but  of  luxurious  taste.  She  had  a  passion  for  splendor,  which, 
though  ever  regulated  by  a  fine  perception  of  the  fitness  of 
things,  was  still  costly.  Though  her  mien  was  in  gen- 
eral haughty,  she  flattered  Zenobia,  and  consummately. 
Zenobia,  who  liked  handsome  people,  even  handsome  women, 
and  persons  who  were  dressed  beautifully,  and  delighted  her 
eye  by  their  grace  and  fine  manners,  was  quite  won  by  Mrs. 
Ferrars,  against  whom  at  first  she  was  inclined  to  be  a  little 
prejudiced.  There  was  an  entire  alliance  between  them,  and 
though  Mrs.  Ferrars  greatly  influenced  and  almost  ruled 
Zenobia,  the  wife  of  the  minister  was  careful  always  to  ac- 
knowledge the  Queen  of  Fashion  as  her  suzeraine. 

The  great  world  then,  compared  with  the  huge  society  of 
the  present  period,  was  limited  in  its  proportions,  and  com- 
posed of  elements  more  refined  though  far  less  various.  It 
consisted  mainly  of  the  great  landed  aristocracy,  who  had  quite 
absorbed  the  nabobs  of  India,  and  had  nearly  appropriated  the 
huge  West  Indian  fortunes.  Occasionly,  an  eminent  banker 
or  merchant  invested  a  large  portion  of  his  accumulations  in 
land,  and  in  the  purchase  of  parliamentary  influence,  and  was 
in  time  duly  admitted  into  the  sanctuary.  But  those  vast  and 
successful  invasions  of  society  by  new  classes  which  have  since 
occurred,  though  impending,  had  not  yet  commenced.     The 


24  END  r MI  ON, 

manufacturer?,  tne  railway  kings,  the  colossal  contractors,  the 
discoverers  of  nuggets,  had  not  yet  found  their  place  in  society 
and  the  senate.  There  were  then,  perhaps,  more  great  houses 
open  than  at  the  present  day,  but  there  were  very  few  little 
ones.  The  necessity  of  providing  regular  occasions  for  the  as- 
sembling of  the  miscellaneous  world  of  fashion  led  to  the  in- 
stitution of  Almack's,  which  died  out  in  the  advent  of  the  new 
system  of  society,  and  in  the  fierce  competition  of  its  inexhaus- 
tible private  entertainments. 

The  season  then  was  brilliant  and  sustained,  but  it  was  not 
flurried.  People  did  not  go  to  various  parties  on  the  same 
night.  They  remained  where  they  were  assembled,  and,  not 
being  in  a  hurry,  were  more  agreeable  than  they  are  at  the 
present  day.  Conversation  was  more  cultivated;  manners, 
though  unconstrained,  were  more  stately ;  and  the  world,  being 
limited,  knew  itself  much  better.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
sympathies  of  society  were  more  contracted  than  they  are  at 
the  present.  The  pressure  of  population  had  not  opened  the 
heart  of  man.  The  world  attended  to  its  poor  in  its  country 
parishes,  and  subscribed  and  danced  for  the  Spitalfields  weav- 
ers when  their  normal  distress  had  overflowed;  but  their 
knowledge  of  the  people  did  not  exceed  these  bounds,  and  the 
people  knew  very  little  more  about  themselves.  They  were 
only  half-born. 

The  darkest  hour  precedes  the  dawn,  and  a  period  of  unusual 
stillness,  often,  perhaps  usually,  heralds  the  social  convulsion. 
At  this  moment,  the  general  tranquillity  and  even  content  were 
remarkable.  In  politics,  the  Whigs  were  quite  prepared  to 
extend  to  the  duke  the  same  provisional  confidence  that  had 
been  accepted  by  Mr.  Canning,  and  conciliation  began  to  be 
an  accepted  phrase,  which  meant  in  practice  some  share  on 
their  part  of  the  good  things  of  the  State.  The  country  itself 
required  nothing.  There  was  a  general  impression,  indeed, 
that  they  had  been  advancing  at  a  rather  rapid  rate,  and  that 
it  was  as  well  that  the  reins  should  be  entrusted  to  a  wary 
driver.  Zenobia,  who  represented  society,  was  enraptured 
that  the  career  of  revolution  had  been  stayed.  She  still 
mourned  over  the  concession  of  the  Manchester  and  Liver- 
pool Railway  in  a  moment  of  Liberal  infatuation ;  but  flattered 
nerself  that  any  extension  of  the  railway  system  might  cer- 
tainly be  arrested,  and  on  this  head  the  majority  of  society, 
perhaps  even  of  the  country,  was  certainly  on  her  side. 

"  I  have  some  good  news  for  you,"  said  one  of  her  young 


ENDTMION.  25 

favorites,  as  he  attended  her  reception.  "  We  have  prevented, 
this  morning,  the  lighting  of  Grosvenor  Square  by  gas,  by  a 
large  majority." 

"  I  felt  confident  that  disgrace  w^ould  never  occur,''  said 
Zenobia,  triumphant.  "  And  by  a  large  majority !  I  wonder 
how  Lord  Pomeroy  voted." 

"  Against  us." 

"  How  can  one  save  this  country  ?  "  exclaimed  Zenobia.  "  I 
believe  now  the  story  that  he  has  ordered  Lady  Pomeroy  not 
to  go  to  the  Drawing-room  in  a  sedan  chair." 

One  bright  May  morning  in  the  spring  that  followed  the 
formation  of  the  government  that  was  to  last  forever,  Mrs. 
Ferrars  received  the  world  at  a  fanciful  entertainment  in  the 
beautiful  grounds  of  her  Wimbledon  villa.  The  day  was 
genial,  the  scene  was  flushed  with  roses  and  pink  thorns,  and 
brilliant  groups,  amid  bursts  of  music,  clustered  and  sauntered 
on  the  green  turf  of  bowery  lawns.  Mrs.  Ferrars  on  a  rustic 
throne,  with  the  wondrous  twins  in  still  more  wonderful  attire, 
distributed  alternate  observations  of  sympathetic  gayety  to  a 
Russian  Grand-duke  and  to  the  serene  heir  of  a  German  prin- 
cipality. And  yet  there  was  really  an  expression  on  her  coun- 
tenance of  restlessness,  not  to  say  anxiety,  which  ill  accorded 
with  the  dulcet  tones  and  the  wreathed  smiles  which  charmed 
her  august  companions.  Zenobia,  the  great  Zenobia,  had  not 
arrived,  and  the  hours  were  advancing.  The  Grand-duke 
played  with  the  beautiful  and  haughty  infants,  and  the  Ger- 
man prince  inquired  of  Endymion  whether  he  were  destined 
to  be  one  of  her  Majesty's  guards;  but  still  Zenobia  did  not 
come,  and  Mrs.  Ferrars  could  scarcely  conceal  her  vexation. 
But  there  was  no  real  occasion  for  it,  for  even  at  this  moment, 
with  avant-courier,  and  outriders,  and  badged  postillions  on  her 
four  horses  of  race,  the  lodge  gates  were  opening  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  great  lady,  who,  herself,  soon  appeared  in  the  dis- 
tance; and  Mrs.  Ferrars,  accompanied  by  her  distinguished 
guests,  immediately  rose  and  advanced  to  receive  the  Queen 
of  Fashion.  No  one  appreciated  a  royal  presence  more  highly 
than  Zenobia.  It  was  her  habit  to  impress  upon  her  noble 
fellows  of  both  sexes,  that  there  were  relations  of  intimacy 
between  herself  and  the  royal  houses  of  Europe,  which  were 
not  shared  by  her  class.  She  liked  to  play  the  part  of  a  social 
mediator  between  the  aristocracy  and  royal  houses.  A  Ger- 
man Serenity  was  her  delight,  but  a  Russian  Grand-duke  was 
her  embodiment  of  power  and  pomp,  and  sound  principles  in 


26  ENDTMION. 

their  most  authentic  and  orthodox  form.  And  yet  though  she 
addressed  their  highnesses  with  her  usual  courtly  vivacity,  and 
poured  forth  inquiries  which  seemed  to  indicate  the  most  famil- 
iar acquaintance  with  the  latest  incidents  from  Schonbrunn  or 
the  Rhine,  though  she  embraced  her  hostess,  and  even  kissed 
the  children,  the  practised  eye  of  Mrs.  Ferrars,  whose  life  was 
a  study  of  Zcnobia,  detected  that  her  late  appearance  had  been 
occasioned  by  an  important  cause,  and,  what  was  inore,  that 
Zenobia  was  anxious  to  communicate  it  to  her.  With  femi- 
nine tact,  Mrs.  Ferrars  moved  on  with  her  guests  until  the 
occasion  offered  when  she  could  present  some  great  ladies  to 
the  princess;  and  then  dismissing  the  children  on  appropriate 
missions,  she  was  not  surprised  when  Zenobia  immediately 
exclaimed:  "Thank  heaven  we  are  at  last  alone!  You  must 
have  been  surprised  I  was  so  late.  Well,  guess  what  has  hap- 
pened?" and  then  as  Mrs.  Ferrars  shook  her  head,  she  con- 
tinued, "  They  are  all  four  out! " 

"All  four!" 

"  Yes:  Lord  Dudley,  Lord  Palmerston  and  Charles  Grant 
follow  Huskisson.  I  do  not  believe  the  first  ever  meant  to  go, 
but  the  duke  would  not  listen  to  his  hypocritical  explanations, 
and  the  rest  have  followed.  I  am  surprised  about  Lord  Dud- 
ley, as  I  know  he  loved  his  office." 

"  I  am  alarmed,"  said  Mrs.  Ferrars. 

"  Not  the  slightest  cause  for  fear,"  exclaimed  the  intrepid 
Zenobia.  "  It  must  have  happened  sooner  or  later.  I  am 
delighted  at  it.  We  shall  now  have  a  cabinet  of  our  own. 
They  never  would  have  rested  till  they  had  brought  in  some 
Whigs,  and  the  country  hates  the  Whigs.  No  wonder,  when 
we  remember  that  if  they  had  had  their  way  we  should  have 
been  wearing  sabots  at  this  time,  with  a  French  prefect  prob- 
ably in  Holland  House." 

"  And  whom  will  they  put  in  the  cabinet?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Ferrars. 

"  Our  good  friends,  I  hope,"  said  Zenobia,  with  an  inspiring 
smile;  "but  I  have  heard  nothing  about  that  yet.  1  am  a 
little  sorry  about  Lord  Dudley,  as  I  think  they  have  drawn 
him  into  their  mesh;  but  as  for  the  other  three, especially  Hus- 
kisson and  Lord  Palmerston,!  can  tell  you  the  duke  has  never 
had  a  quiet  moment  since  they  ^joined  him.  We  shall  now 
begin  to  reign.  The  only  mistake  was  ever  to  have  admitted 
them.     I  think  now  we  have  got  rid  of  Liberalism  forever." 


END  r MI  ON.  27 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Mr.  Ferrars  did  not  become  a  cabinet  minister,  but  this 
was  a  vexation  rather  than  a  disappointment,  and  transient. 
The  unexpected  vacancies  we^e  filled  by  unexpected  person 
ages.  So  great  a  change  in  the  frame  of  the  ministry,  w^ithout 
any  promotion  for  himself,  was  on  the  first  impression  not 
agreeable,  but  reflection  and  the  sanguine  wisdom  of  Zenobia 
soon  convinced  him  that  all  was  for  the  best,  that  the  thought 
of  such  rapid  preferment  was  unreasonable,  and  that  time  and 
the  due  season  must  inevitably  bring  all  that  he  could  desire, 
especially  as  any  term  to  the  duration  of  the  ministry  was  not 
now  to  be  foreseen ;  scarcely  indeed  possible.  In  short  it  was 
shown  to  him  that  the  Tory  party,  renovated  and  restored,  had 
entered  upon  a  new  lease  of  authority,  which  would  stamp  its 
character  on  the  remainder  of  the  nineteenth  century,  as  Mr. 
Pitt  and  his  school  had  marked  its  earlier  and  memorable 
years. 

And  yet  this  very  reconstruction  of  the  government  neces- 
sarily led  to  an  incident  which,  in  its  consequences,  changed 
the  whole  character  of  English  politics,  and  commenced  a 
series  of  revolutions  which  has  not  yet  closed. 

One  of  the  new  ministers  who  had  been  preferred  to  a  place 
which  Mr.  Ferrars  might  have  filled  was  an  Irish  gentleman, 
and  a  member  for  one  of  the  most  considerable  counties  in  his 
country.  He  was  a  good  speaker,  and  the  government  was 
deficient  in  debating  power  in  the  House  of  Commons;  he 
was  popular  and  influential. 

The  return  of  a  cabinet  minister  by  a  large  constituency 
was  more  appreciated  in  the  days  of  close  boroughs  than  at 
present.  There  was  a  rumor  that  the  new  minister  was 
to  be  opposed,  but  Zenobia  laughed  the  rumor  to  scorn.  As 
she  irresistibly  remarked  at  one  of  her  evening  gatherings, 
"Every  landowner  in  the  county  is  in  his  favor;  therefore  it 
is  impossible."  The  statistics  of  Zenobia  were  quite  correct, 
yet  the  result  was  different  from  what  she  anticipated.  An 
Irish  lawyer,  a  professional  agitator,  himself  a  Roman  Catholic 
and  therefore  ineligible,  announced  himself  as  a  candidate  in 
opposition  to  the  new  minister,  and  on  the  day  of  election 
thirty  thousand  peasants,  setting  at  defiance  all  the  landowners 
of  the  county,  returned  O'Connell  at  the  head  of  the  poll,  and 
placed  among  not  the  least  memorable  historical  events — the 
Clare  election, 


38  BNDTMION. 

This  event  did  not,  however,  occur  until  the  end  of  the  year 
1S28,  for  the  state  of  the  lavsr  then  prevented  the  vsrrit  from 
being  moved  until  that  time,  and  during  the  w^hole  of  that 
year  the  Ferrars  family  had  pursued  a  course  of  unflagging  dis- 
play. Courage,  expenditure,  and  tact  combined  had  realized 
almost  the  height  of  that  social  ambition  to  which  Mrs.  Ferrars 
soared.  Even  in  the  limited  and  exclusive  circle  which  then 
prevailed,  she  began  to  be  counted  among  the  great  dames. 
As  for  the  twins,  they  seemed  quite  worthy  of  their  beautiful 
and  luxurious  mother.  Proud,  wilful,  and  selfish,  they  had  one 
redeeming  quality,  an  intense  affection  for  each  other.  The 
sister  seemed  to  have  the  commanding  spirit,  for  Endymion 
was  calm,  but,  if  he  were  ruled  by  his  sister,  she  was  ever  will- 
ing to  be  his  slave,  and  to  sacrifice  every  consideration  to  his 
caprice  and  his  convenience. 

The  year  1829  was  eventful,  but  to  Ferrars  more  agitating 
than  anxious.  When  it  was  first^known  that  the  head  of  the 
cabinet,  whose  colleague  had  been  defeated  at  Clare,  was  him- 
self about  to  propose  the  emancipation  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lics, there  was  a  thrill  throughout  the  country;  but  after  a 
time  the  success  of  the  operation  was  not  doubted,  and  was 
anticipated  as  a  fresh  proof  of  the  irresistible  fortune  of  the 
heroic  statesman.  There  was  some  popular  discontent  in  the 
country  at  the  proposal,  but  it  was  mainly  organized  and  stim- 
ulated ])y  the  Dissenters,  and  that  section  of  Churchmen  who 
most  resembled  them.  The  High  Church  party,  the  descend- 
ants of  the  old  connection  which  had  rallied  round  Sacheverell, 
had  subsided  into  formalism,  and  shrank  from  any  very  active 
co-operation  with  their  evangelical  brethren. 

The  English  Church  had  no  competent  leaders  among  the 
clergy.  The  spirit  that  has  animated  and  disturbed  our  latter 
times  seemed  quite  dead,  and  no  one  anticipated  its  resurrec- 
tion. The  bishops  had  been  selected  from  college  dons,  men 
profoundly  ignorant  of  the  condition  and  the  wants  of  the 
country.  To  have  edited  a  Greek  play  with  second-rate  suc- 
cess, or  to  have  been  the  tutor  of  some  considerable  patrician, 
was  the  qualification  then  deemed  desirable  and  sufficient  for 
an  office  which  at  this  day  is  at  least  reserved  for  eloquence 
and  energy.  The  social  influence  of  the  Episcopal  bench  was 
nothing.  A  prelate  was  rarely  seen  in  the  saloons  of  Zenobia. 
It  is  since  the  depths  of  religious  thought  have  been  probed, 
and  the  influence  of  woman  in  the  spread  and  sustenance  of 
religious  feeling  has  again  been  recognized,  that  fascinating  and 


ENDTMION.  59 

fashionable  prelates  have  become  favored  guests  in  the  refined 
saloons  of  the  mighty;  and,  while  apparently  indulging  in  the 
vanities  of  the  hour,  have  re-established  the  influence  which  in 
old  days  guided  a  Matilda  or  the  mother  of  Constantine. 

The  end  of  the  year  1829,  however,  brought  a  private  event 
of  moment  to  the  Ferrars  family.  The  elder  Mr.  Ferrars  died. 
The  world  observed  at  the  time  how  deeply  affected  his  son 
was  at  this  event.  The  relations  between  father  and  son  had 
always  been  commendable,  but  the  world  was  hardly  prepared 
for  Mr.  Ferrars,  junior,  being  so  entirely  overwhelmed.  It 
would  seem  that  nothing  but  the  duties  of  public  life  could 
have  restored  him  to  his  friends,  and  even  these  duties  he 
relinquished  for  an  unusual  time.  The  world  was  curious  to 
know  the  amount  of  his  inheritance,  but  the  proof  of  the  will 
was  unusually  delayed,  and  public  events  soon  occurred  which 
alike  consigned  the  will  and  the  will-maker  to  oblivion. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  applied  himself  to  the  treatment  of 
the  critical  circumstances  of  1830  with  that  blended  patience 
and  quickness  of  perception,  to  which  he  owed  the  success  of 
many  campaigns.  Quite  conscious  of  the  difficulties  he  had  to 
encounter,  he  was  nevertheless  full  of  confidence  in  his  ability 
to  control  them.  It  is  probable  that  the  paramount  desire  of 
the  duke  in  his  effort  to  confirm  his  power,  was  to  rally  and 
restore  the  ranks  of  the  Tory  party,  disturbed  rather  than 
broken  up  by  the  passing  of  the  Relief  Bill.  During  the  very 
heat  of  the  struggle  it  was  significantly  observed  that  the  head 
of  the  powerful  family  of  Lowther,  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
was  never  asked  to  resign  his  oliice,  although  both  himself  and 
his  following  voted  invariably  against  the  government  measure. 
The  order  of  the  day  was  the  utmost  courtesy  to  the  rebels, 
who  were  treated,  as  some  alleged,  with  more  consideration 
than  the  compliant.  At  the  same  time,  the  desire  of  the 
Whigs  to  connect,  perhaps  even  to  merge  themselves  in  the 
ministerial  ranks,  was  not  neglected.  A  Whig  had  been 
appointed  to  succeed  the  eccentric  and  too  uncompromising 
Wetherell  in  the  ofiice  of  at-torney-general ;  other  posts  had 
been  placed  at  their  disposal,  and  one  even,  an  old  companion 
in  arms  of  the  duke,  had  entered  the  cabinet.  The  confidence 
in  the  duke's  star  was  not  diminished,  and  under  ordinary  cir- 


30 


ENDTMION, 


cumstances  this  balanced  strategy  would  probably  have  been 
successful.  But  it  was  destined  to  cope  with  great  and  unex- 
pected events. 

The  first  was  the  unexpected  demise  of  the  crown.  The 
death  of  King  George  the  Fourth,  at  the  end  of  the  month  of 
June,  according  to  the  then  existing  constitution,  necessitated 
a  dissolution  of  Parliament,  and  so  deprived  the  minister  of 
that  valuable  quality  of  time,  necessary  to  soften  and  win  back 
his  estranged  friends.  Nevertheless  it  is  not  improbable  that 
the  duke  might  still  have  succeeded,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
occurrence  of  the  French  insurrection  of  1830,  in  the  very  heat 
of  the  preparations  for  the  general  election  in  England.  The 
Whigs,  who  found  the  duke  going  to  the  country  without  that 
reconstruction  of  his  ministry  on  which  they  had  counted,  saw 
their  opportunity  and  seized  it.  The  triumphant  riots  of  Paris 
were  dignified  into  "  the  three  glorious  days,"  and  the  three 
glorious  days  were  universally  recognized  as  the  triumph  of  civil 
and  religious  liberty.  The  names  of  Polignac  and  Wellington 
were  adroitly  connected  together,  and  the  phrase  Parliament- 
ary Reform  began  to  circulate. 

It  was  Zenobia's  last  reception  for  the  season,  on  the  mor- 
row she  was  about  to  depart  for  her  county,  and  canvass  for 
her  candidates.  She  was  still  undaunted,  and  never  more  in- 
spiring. The  excitement  of  the  times  was  reflected  in  her 
manner.  She  addressed  her  arriving  guests  as  they  made 
their  obeisance  to  her,  asked  for  news  and  imparted  it  before 
she  could  be  answered ;  declared  that  nothing  had  been  more 
critical  since  '93;  that  there  was  only  one  man  who  was  able  to 
deal  with  the  situation,  and  thanked  heaven  he  was  not  only  in 
England,  but  in  her  drawing-room. 

Fcrrars,  who  had  been  dining  with  his  patron.  Lord  Pom- 
eroy,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  at  any  rate,  his  return 
to  the  new  Parliament  was  certain,  while  helping  himself  to 
coffee,  could  not  refrain  from  saying  in  a  low  tone  to  a  gentle- 
man who  was  performing  the  same  office, "  Our  Whig  friends 
seem  in  high  spirits,  baron." 

The  gentleman  thus  addressed  was  Baron  Sergius,  a  man  of 
middle  age.  His  countenance  was  singularly  intelligent,  tem- 
pered with  an  expression  mild  and  winning.  He  had  at- 
tended the  Congress  of  Vienna  to  represent  a  fallen  party,  a 
difficult  and  ungracious  task,  but  he  had  shown  such  high  quali- 
ties in  the  fulfilment  of  his  painful  duties — so  much  knovvl- 
edjje,  so  much  self-control,  and  so  much  wise  and  unaffected 


ENDnilOiV,  31 

conciliation — that  he  had  won  universal  respect,  and  especially 
with  the  English  plenipotentiaries,  so  that  when  he  visited 
England,  which  he  did  frequently,  the  houses  of  both  parties 
were  one  to  him,  and  he  was  as  intimate  with  the  Whigs  as 
he  was  with  the  great  duke,  by  whom  he  was  highly  es- 
teemed. 

"  As  we  have  got  our  coffee,  let  us  sit  down,"  said  the 
baron,  and  they  withdrew  to  a  settee  against  the  wall. 

"  You  know  I  am  a  Liberal,  and  have  always  been  a  Lib- 
eral," said  the  baron ;  "  I  know  the  value  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty,  for  I  was  born  in  a  country  where  we  had  neither,  and 
where  we  have  since  enjoyed  either  very  fitfully.  Nothing 
can  be  much  drearier  than  the  present  lot  of  my  country,  and 
it  is  probable  that  these  doings  at  Paris  may  help  my  friends  a 
little,  and  they  may  again  hold  up  their  heads  for  a  time;  but 
I  have  seen  too  much  and  am  too  old  to  indulge  in  dreams. 
You  are  a  young  man  and  will  live  to  see  what  I  can  only 
predict.  The  world  is  thinking  of  something  else  than  civil 
and  religious  liberty.  Those  are  phrases  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  The  men  who  have  won  these  "  three  glorious  days" 
at  Paris  want  neither  civilization  nor  religion.  They  will  not 
be  content  till  they  have  destroyed  both.  It  is  possible  that 
they  may  be  parried  for  a  time ;  that  the  adroit  wisdom  of  the 
house  of  Orleans,  guided  by  Talleyrand,  may  give  this  move- 
ment the  resemblance,  and  even  the  character  of  a  middle- 
class  revolution.  It  is  no  such  thing;  the  barricades  were  not 
erected  by  the  middle  class.  I  know  these  people ;  it  is  a  fra- 
ternity, not  a  nation.  Europe  is  honeycombed  with  their  se- 
cret societies.  They  are  spread  all  over  Spain.  Italy  is 
entirely  mined.  I  know  more  of  the  Southern  than  the 
Northern  nations,  but  I  have  been  assured  by  one  who  should 
know  that  the  brotherhood  are  org-anized  throujjhout  Ger- 
many  and  even  in  Russia.  I  have  spoken  to  the  duke  about 
these  things.  He  is  not  indifferent,  or  altogether  incredulous, 
but  he  is  so  essentially  practical  that  he  can  only  deal  with 
what  he  sees.  I  have  sj^oken  to  the  Whig  leaders.  They  tell  me 
that  there  is  only  one  specific,  and  that  a  complete  one — consti- 
tutional government;  that  with  representative  institutions  se- 
cret societies  cannot  coexist.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  it  seems  to 
me  that  with  these  secret  societies  representative  institutions 
rather  will  disappear." 


32  END  r MI  ON. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

What  unexpectedly  took  place  in  the  southern  part  of  Eng- 
land, and  especially  in  the  maritime  counties,  during  the  autumn 
of  1830,  seemed  rather  to  confirm  the  intimations  of  Baron 
Sergius.  The  people  in  the  rural  districts  had  become  disaf- 
fected. Their  discontent  was  generally  attributed  to  the 
abuses  of  the  Poor  Law,  and  to  the  lowness  of  their  wages. 
But  the  abuses  of  the  Poor  Law,  though  intolerable,  were 
generally  in  favor  of  the  laborer,  and  though  wages  in  some 
parts  were  unquestionably  low,  it  was  observed  that  the  tumul- 
tuous assemblies,  ending  frequently  in  riot,  were  held  in  dis- 
tricts where  this  cause  did  not  prevail.  The  most  fearful  feat- 
ure of  the  approaching  anarchy  was  the  frequent  acts  of  in- 
cendiaries. The  blazing  homesteads  baffled  the  feeble  police 
and  the  helpless  magistrates;  and  the  government  had  reason 
to  believe  that  foreign  agents  were  actively  promoting  these 
mysterious  crimes. 

Amid  partial  discontent  and  general  dejection  came  the  crash 
®f  the  Wellington  ministry,  and  it  required  all  the  inspiration 
of  Zenobia  to  sustain  William  Ferrars  under  the  trial.  But 
she  was  undaunted  and  sanguine  as  a  morning  in  spring. 
Nothing  could  persuade  her  that  the  Whigs  coukl  ever  form 
a  government,  and  she  was  quite  sure  that  the  clerks  in  the 
public  offices  alone  could  turn  them  out.  When  the  Whig 
government  was  formed  and.  its  terrible  program-me  announced, 
she  laughed  it  to  scorn,  and  derided  with  inexhaustible  merri- 
ment the  idea  of  the  House  of  Commons  passing  a  Reform 
Bill.  She  held  a  great  assembly  the  night  that  General  Gas- 
coyne  defeated  the  first  measure  by  a  majority  of  one,  and 
passed  an  evening  of  ecstasy  in  giving  and  receiving  congrat- 
ulations. The  morrow  brought  a  graver  brow,  but  still  an  in- 
domitable spirit,  and  through  all  these  tempestuous  times 
Zenobia  never  quailed,  though  mobs  burned  the  castles  of 
dukes  and  the  palaces  of  bishops. 

Serious  as  was  the  state  of  aflfairs  to  William  Ferrars,  his 
condition  was  not  so  desperate  as  that  of  some  of  his  friends. 
His  seat  at  least  was  safe  in  the  new  Parliament  that  was  to 
pass  a  Reform  Bill.  As  for  the  Tories  generally,  they  w^re 
swept  off  the  board.  Scarcely  a  constituency  in  which  was  a 
popular  clement,  was  faithful  to  them.  The  counties  in  those 
days  were  the  great  expounders  of  popular  principles,  and 
whenever  England  was  excited,  which  was  rare,  she  spoke 


END  r MI  ON,  33 

through  her  freeholders.  In  this  instance  ahuost  every  Tory 
knight  of  the  shire  lost  his  seat  except  Lord  Chandos,the  mem- 
ber for  Buckinghamshire,  who  owed  his  success  entirely  to  his 
personal  popularity.  "  Never  mind,"  said  Zenobia,  "  what 
does  it  signify?     The  Lords  will  throw  it  out." 

And  bravely  and  unceasingly  she  worked  for  this  end.  To 
assist  this  purpose  it  was  necessary  that  a  lengthened  and 
powerful  resistance  to  the  measure  should  be  made  in  the 
Commons:  that  the  public  mind  should  be  impressed  with  its 
dangerous  principles,  and  its  promoters  cheapened  by  the 
exposure  of  their  corrupt  arrangements  and  their  inaccurate 
details.  It  must  be  confessed  that  these  objects  were  reso- 
lutely kept  in  view,  and  that  the  Tory  opposition  evinced 
energy  and  abilities  not  unworthy  of  a  great  parliamentary 
occasion.  Ferrars  particularly  distinguished  himself.  He  rose 
immensely  in  the  estimation  of  the  House,  and  soon  the  public 
began  to  talk  of  him.  His  statistics  about  the  condemned 
boroughs  were  astounding  and  unanswerable;  he  was  the 
only  man  who  seemed  to  know  anything  of  the  elements  of 
the  new  ones.  He  was  as  eloquent,  too,  as  exact — sometimes 
as  fervent  as  Burke,  and  always  as  accurate  as  Cocker. 

"  I  never  thought  it  was  in  William  Ferrars,"  said  a  mem- 
ber, musingly,  to  a  companion  as  they  walked  home  one  night; 
"  I  always  thought  him  a  good  man  of  business,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing — but,  somehow  or  other,  I  did  not  think  this  was 
in  him." 

"  Well,  he  has  a  good  deal  at  stake,  and  that  brings  it  out  of 
a  fellow,"  said  his  friend.  ^ 

It  was,  however,  pouring  water  upon  sand.  Any  substan- 
tial resistance  to  the  measure  was,  from  the  first,  out  of  the 
question.  Lord  Chandos  accomplished  the  only  important 
feat,  and  that  was  the  enfranchisement  of  the  farmers.  This 
perpetual  struggle,  however,  occasioned  a  vast  deal  of  excite- 
ment, and  the  actors  in  it  often  indulged  in  the  wild  credulity 
of  impossible  expectations.  The  saloon  of  Zenobia  was  ever 
thronged,  and  she  was  never  more  confident  than  when  the 
bill  passed  the  Commons.  She  knew  that  the  king  would 
never  give  his  assent  to  the  bill.  His  majesty  had  had  quite 
enough  of  going  down  in  hackney  coaches  to  carry  revolutions. 
iVfter  all,  he  was  the  son  of  good  King  George,  and  the  court 
would  save  the  country,  as  it  had  often  done  before.  "  But  it 
will  not  come  to  that,"  she  added.  "  The  Lords  will  do  their 
duty." 


34 


END  r MI  ON, 


"  But  Lord  Waverley  tells  me,"  said  Ferrars,  "  that  there 
are  forty  of  them  who  were  against  the  bill  last  year,  who  will 
vote  for  the  second  reading." 

"  Never  mind  Lord  Waverley  and  such  addle-brains,"  said 
Zenobia,  with  a  smile  of  triumphant  mystery.  "  So  long  as 
we  have  the  court,  the  duke,  and  Lord  Lyndhurst  on  our  side, 
we  can  afford  to  laugh  at  such  conceited  poltroons.  His 
mother  was  my  dearest  friend,  and  I  know  he  used  to  have 
fits.  Look  bright,"  she  continued;  "things  never  were  bet- 
ter.   Before  a  week  has  passed  these  people  will  be  nowhere." 

"  But  how  is  it  possible  ? " 

"  Trust  me." 

"  I  always  do — and  yet — " 

"  You  never  were  nearer  being  a  cabinet  minister,"  she  said, 
with  a  radiant  glance. 

And  Zenobia  was  right.  Though  the  government,  with  the 
aid  of  the  waverers,  carried  the  second  reading  of  the  bill,  a 
week  afterwards,  on  May  7,  Lord  Lyndhurst  rallied  the 
waverers  again  to  his  standard,  and  carried  his  famous  resolu- 
tion, that  the  enfranchising  clauses  should  precede  the  dis- 
franchisement in  the  great  measure.  Lord  Grey  and  his  col- 
leagues resigned,  and  the  king  sent  for  Lord  Lyndhurst.  The 
bold  chief  baron  advised  his  majesty  to  consult  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  and  was  himself  the  bearer  of  the  king's  message 
to  Apsley  House.  The  duke  found  the  king  "  in  great  dis- 
tress, and  he  therefore  did  not  hesitate  in  promising  to  endea- 
vor to  form  a  ministry. 

"  Who  was  right?"  said  Zenobia  to  Mr.  Ferrars.  "  He  is  so 
busy  he  could  not  write  to  you,  but  he  told  me  to  tell  you  to 
call  at  Apsley  House  at  twelve  to-morrow.  You  will  be  in 
the  cabinet." 

"  I  have  got  it  at  last!"  said  Ferrars  to  himself.  "  It  is 
worth  living  for  and  at  any  peril.  All  the  cares  of  life  sink 
into  insignificance  under  such  circumstances.  The  difficulties 
are  great,  but  their  very  greatness  will  furnish  the  means  of 
their  solution.  The  crown  cannot  be  dragged  in  the  mud, 
and  the  Duke  was  born  for  conquest." 

A  day  passed,  and  another  day,  and  Ferrars  was  not  again 
summoned.  The  affair  seemed  to  hang  fire.  Zenobia  was 
still  brave,  but  Ferrars,  who  knew  her  thoroughly,  could  de- 
tect her  lurking  anxiety.  Then  she  told  iiim  in  confidence 
that  Sir  Robert  made  difficulties,  "but  there  is  nothing  in  it," 
she  added.     "  The  duke  has  provided  for  everything,  and  he 


END  r MI  ON.  35 

means  Sir  Robert  to  be  Premier.  He  could  not  refuse  that; 
it  would  be  almost  an  act  of  treason."  Two  days  after  she 
sent  for  Mr.  Fcrrars,  early  in  the  morning,  and  received  him 
in  her  boudoir.  Her  countenance  was  excited,  but  serious. 
"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  she  said;  "  Nothing  will  prevent  a  gov- 
ernment being  formed,  but  Sir  Robert  has  thrown  us  over;  I 
never  had  confidence  in  him.  It  is  most  provoking,  as  Mr. 
Baring  had  joined  us,  and  it  was  such  a  good  name  for  the 
city.  But  the  failure  of  one  man  is  the  opportunity  of  another. 
We  want  a  leader  in  the  House  of  Commons.  He  must  be  a 
man  who  can  speak ;  of  experience,  who  knows  the  House,  its 
forms,  and  all  that.  There  is  only  one  man  indicated.  You 
cannot  doubt  about  him.  I  told  you  honors  would  be  tumb- 
ling on  your  head.  You  are  the  man;  you  are  to  have  one 
of  the  highest  offices  in  the  cabinet,  and  lead  the  House  of 
Commons." 

"  Peel  declines,"  said  Ferrars,  speaking  slowly  and  shaking 
his  head.     "  That  is  very  serious." 

"  For  himself,"  said  Zenobia,  "  not  for  you.  It  makes  your 
fortune." 

"  The  difficulties  seem  too  great  to  contend  with." 

"  What  difficulties  are  there  ?  You  have  got  the  court,  and 
you  have  got  the  House  of  Lords.  Mr.  Pitt  was  not  nearly  so 
well  off,  for  he  had  never  been  in  office,  and  had  at  the  same  time 
to  fight  Lord  North  and  that  wicked  Mr.  Fox,  the  orator  of 
the  day,  while  you  have  only  got  Lord  Althorp,  who  can't  or- 
der his  own  dinner." 

"  I  am  in  amazement,"  said  Ferrars,  and  he  seemed  plunged 
in  thought. 

"  But  you  do  not  hesitate .?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  looking  up  dreamily,  for  he  had  been  lost  in 
abstraction;  and  speaking  in  a  measured  and  hollow  voice,  "  I 
do  not  hesitate."  Then  resuming  a  brisk  tone  he  said,  "  This 
is  not  an  age  for  hesitation;  if  asked  I  will  do  the  deed." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  groom 
of  the  chambers  brought  in  a  note  for  Mr.  Ferrars,  which  had 
been  forwarded  from  his  own  residence  and  which  requested 
his  presence  at  Apsley  House.  Having  read  it,  he  gave  it  to 
Zenobia  who  exclaimed  with  delight,  "  Do  not  lose  a  moment. 
I  am  so  glad  to  have  got  rid  of  Sir  Robert  with  his  doubts 
and  his  difficulties.     We  want  new  blood." 

That  was  a  wonderful  walk  for  William  Ferrars,  from  St. 
James's  Square  to  Apsley  House.     As  he  moved  along  he  was 


36  END  TM I  ON, 

testing  his  courage  and  capacity  for  the  sharp  trials  that 
awaited  him.  He  felt  himself  not  unequal  to  conjunctures  in 
which  he  had  never  previously  indulged  even  in  imagination. 
His  had  been  an  ambitious,  rather  than  a  soaring  spirit.  He 
had  never  contemplated  the  possession  of  power  except  under 
the  aegis  of  some  commanding  chief.  Now  it  was  for  him  to 
control  senates  and  guide  councils.  He  screwed  himself  up  to 
the  sticking-point.  Desperation  is  sometimes  as  powerful  an 
inspirer  as  genius. 

The  great  man  was  alone — calm,  easy,  and  courteous.  He  had 
sent  for  Mr.  Ferrars  because,  having  had  one  interview  with 
him,  in  which  his  co-operation  had  been  requested  in  the  con- 
duct of  affairs,  the  duke  thought  it  was  due  to  him  to  give  him 
the  earliest  Intimation  of  the  change  of  circumstances.  The 
vote  of  the  House  of  Commons,  on  the  motion  of  Lord 
Ebrington,  had  placed  an  insurmountable  barrier  to  the  forma- 
tion of  a  government,  and  his  grace  had  accordingly  re- 
linquished the  commission  with  which  he  had  been  intrusted  by 
the  king. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Availing  himself  of  his  latch-key,  Ferrars  re-entered  his 
home  unnoticed.  He  went  at  once  to  his  library,  and  locked 
the  door  of  the  apartment.  There,  sitting  before  his  desk,  he 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  remained  in  that  posture  for  a 
considerable  time. 

They  were  tumultuous  and  awful  thoughts  that  passed  over 
his  brain.  The  dreams  of  a  life  were  dissipated,  and  he  had  to 
encounter  the  stern  reality  of  his  position — and  that  was  ruin. 
He  was  without  hope  and  without  resource.  His  debts  were 
vast;  his  patrimony  was  a  fable;  and  the  mysterious  inheri- 
tance of  his  wife  had  been  tampered  with.  The  elder  Ferrars 
had  left  an  insolvent  estate;  he  had  supported  his  son  liberally, 
but  latterly  from  his  son's  own  resources.  The  father  had 
made  himself  the  principal  trustee  of  the  son's  marriage  settle- 
ment. His  colleague,  a  relative  of  the  heiress,  had  died,  and 
care  was  taken  that  no  one  should  be  substituted  in  his  stead. 
All  this  had  been  discovered  by  Ferrars  on  his  father's  death, 
but  ambition  and  the  excitement  of  a  life  of  blended  elation 
and  peril  had  sustained  him  under  the  concussion.  One  by  one 
every  chance  had  vanished;  first  his  private  means  and  then 
his  public  prospects ;  he  had  lost  office,  and  now  he  was  about 


END  r MI  ON.  37 

to  lose  Parliament.  His  whole  position,  so  long  and  carefully 
and  skilfully  built  up,  seemed  to  dissolve  and  dissipate  into  in- 
significant fragments.  And  now  he  had  to  break  the  situation 
to  his  wife.  She  was  to  become  the  unprepared  partner  of  the 
secret  which  had  gnawed  at  his  heart  for  years,  during  which 
to  her  his  mien  had  often  been  smiling  and  always  serene. 
Mrs.  Ferrars  was  at  home  and  alone  in  her  luxurious  boudoir, 
and  he  went  to  her  at  once.  After  years  of  dissimulation,  now 
that  all  was  over,  Ferrars  could  not  bear  the  suspense  of  four- 
and-twenty  hours. 

It  was  difficult  to  bring  her  into  a  mood  of  mind  capable  of 
comprehending  a  tithe  of  what  she  had  to  learn;  and  yet  the 
darkest  part  of  the  tale  she  was  never  to  know.  Mrs.  Ferrars, 
though  singularly  intuitive,  shrank  from  controversy,  and  set- 
tled everything  by  contradiction  and  assertion.  She  main- 
tained for  a  long  time  that  what  her  husband  communicated  to 
her  could  not  be;  that  it  was  absurd  and  even  impossible. 
After  a  while,  she  talked  of  selling  her  diamonds  and  reducing 
her  equipages,  sacrificing  which  she  assumed  would  put  every 
thing  right.  And  when  she  found  her  husband  still  grave  and 
still  intimating  that  the  sacrifices  must  be  beyond  all  this,  and 
that  they  must  prepare  for  the  life  and  habits  of  another  social 
sphere,  she  became  violent,  and  wept  and  declared  her  wrongs; 
that  she  had  been  deceived  and  outraged  and  infamously 
treated. 

Remembering  how  long  and  with  what  apparent  serenity  in 
her  presence  he  had  endured  his  secret  woes,  and  how  one  of 
the  principal  objects  of  his  life  had  ever  been  to  guard  her  even 
from  a  shade  of  solicitude,  even  the  restrained  Ferrars  was 
affected;  his  countenance  changed,  and  his  eye  became  suf- 
fused. When  she  observed  this,  she  suddenly  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  with  many  embraces,  amid  sighs  and  tears, 
exclaimed,  "  Oh!  William,  if  we  love  each  other,  what  does 
anything  signify  ?  " 

And  what  could  anything  signify  under  such  circumstances 
and  on  such  conditions?  As  Ferrars  pressed  his  beautiful  wife 
to  his  heart,  he  remembered  only  his  early  love,  which  seemed 
entirely  to  revive.  Unconsciously  to  himself,  too,  he  was 
greatly  relieved  by  this  burst  of  tenderness  on  her  part,  for  the 
prospect  of  this  interview  had  been  most  distressful  to  him. 
"  My  darling,"  he  said,  "  ours  is  not  a  case  of  common  impru- 
dence or  misfortune.  We  are  the  victims  of  a  revolution,  and 
we  must  bear  our  lot  as  becomes  us  under  such  circumstances. 


38  END  r MI  ON. 

Individual  misfortunes  are  merged  in  the  greater  catastrophe  of 
the  country." 

"  That  is  the  true  view,"  said  his  wife ;  "  and,  after  all,  the 
poor  King  of  France  is  much  worse  off  than  we  are.  How- 
ever, I  cannot  now  buy  the  Duchess  of  Sevres'  lace,  which  I 
had  promised  her  to  do.  It  is  rather  awkward.  However, 
the  best  way  always  is  to  speak  the  truth.  I  must  tell  the 
duchess  I  am  powerless,  and  that  we  are  the  victims  of  a  revo- 
lution, like  herself." 

Then  they  began  to  talk  quite  cosily  together  over  their 
prospects,  he  sitting  on  the  sofa  by  her  side  and  holding  her 
hand.  Mrs.  Ferrars  would  not  hear  of  retiring  to  the  Conti- 
nent. "  No,"  she  said,  with  all  her  sanguine  vein  returning, 
"  you  always  used  to  say  I  brought  you  luck,  and  I  will  bring 
you  luck  yet.  There  must  be  a  reaction.  The  wheel  will 
turn  and  bring  round  our  friends  again.  Do  not  let  us 
then  be  out  of  the  way.  Your  claims  are  immense.  They 
must  do  something  for  you.  They  ought  to  give  you  India, 
and  if  we  only  set  our  mind  upon  it  we  shall  get  it.  Depend 
upon  it,  things  are  not  so  bad  as  they  seem.  What  appear  to 
be  calamities  are  often  the  sources  of  fortune.  I  would  much 
sooner  that  you  should  be  governor-general,  than  a  cabinet 
minister.  That  odious  House  of  Commons  is  very  wearisome. 
I  am  not  sure  any  constitution  can  bear  it  very  long.  I  am 
not  sure  whether  I  would  not  prefer  being  Governor-general 
of  India  even  to  being  prime  minister. 


CHAPTER  X. 

In  consequence  of  the  registration  under  the  Reform  Act  it 
A^as  not  possible  for  Parliament  to  be  dissolved,  and  an  appeal 
made  to  the  new  constituency,  until  the  end  of  the  year.  This 
was  advantageous  to  Mr.  Ferrars,  and  afforded  him  six  months 
of  personal  security  to  arrange  his  affairs.  Both  husband  and 
wife  were  proud,  and  were  anxious  to  quit  the  world  with 
dignity.  All  were  so  busy  about  themselves  at  that  period, 
and  the  vicissitudes  of  life  between  Continental  revolutions  and 
English  reform  so  various  and  extensive,  that  it  was  not  diffi- 
cult to  avoid  the  scrutiny  of  society.  Mrs.  Ferrars  broke  to 
Zenobia  that,  as  her  husband  was  no  longer  to  be  in  Parlia- 
ment, they  had  resolved  to  retire  for  some  time  to  a  country 
life,  though,  as  Mr.  Ferrars  had  at  length  succeeded  in  impress- 


END  TM I  ON.  39 

ing  on  his  wife  that  their  future  income  was  to  be  counted  by 
hundreds,  instead  of  thousands,  it  was  difficult  for  her  to  realize 
a  rural  establishment  that  should  combine  dignity  and  economy. 
Without,  however,  absolutely  alleging  the  cause,  she  contrived 
to  baffle  the  various  propositions  of  this  kind  which  the  ener- 
getic Zenobia  made  to  her,  and  while  she  listened  with  appar- 
ent interest  to  accounts  of  deer-parks,  and  expensive  shooting, 
and  delightful  neighborhoods,  would  just  exclaim,"  Charming! 
but  rather  more,  I  fancy,  than  we  require,  for  we  mean  to  be 
very  quiet  till  my  girl  is  presented." 

That  young  lady  was  now  thirteen,  and  though  her  parents 
were  careful  to  say  nothing  in  her  presence  which  would  ma- 
terially reveal  their  real  situation,  for  which  they  intended  very 
gradually  to  prepare  her,  the  scrutinizing  powers  with  which 
nature  had  prodigally  invested  their  daughter  were  not  easily 
baffled.  She  asked  no  questions,  but  nothing  seemed  to  escape 
the  penetrative  glance  of  that  dark  blue  eye,  calm  amid  all  the 
mystery,  and  tolerating  rather  than  sharing  the  frequent  em- 
brace of  her  parents.  After  a  while  her  brother  came  home 
from  Eton,  to  which  he  was  never  to  return.  A  few  days 
before  this  event  she  became  unusually  restless,  and  even  agi- 
tated. When  he  arrived  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Ferrars  was  at 
home.  He  knocked  gayly  at  the  door,  a  schoolboy's  knock, 
and  was  hardly  in  the  hall  when  his  name  was  called,  and  he 
caught  the  face  of  his  sister,  leaning  over  the  balustrade  of  the 
landing-place.  He  ran  up-stairs  with  wondrous  speed,  and  was 
in  an  instant  locked  in  her  arms.  She  kissed  him  and  kissed 
him  again,  and  when  he  tried  to  speak,  she  stopped  his  mouth 
with  kisses.  And  then  she  said,  "  Something  has  happened. 
What  it  is  I  cannot  make  out,  but  we  are  to  have  no  more 
ponies." 

CHAPTER  XI. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Berkshire  downs,  and  itself  on  a  gentle 
elevation,  there  is  an  old  hall  with  gable  ends  and  lattice  win- 
dows, standing  in  grounds  which  once  were  stately,  and 
where  there  are  yet  glade-like  terraces  of  yew  trees,  which 
give  an  air  of  dignity  to  a  neglected  scene.  In  the  front  of 
the  hall  huge  gates  of  iron,  highly  wrought,  and  bearing  an 
ancient  date  as  well  as  the  shield  of  a  noble  house,  opened  on  a 
village  green,  round  which  were  clustered  the  cottages  of  the 
parish  with    only  one  exception,  and   that  was  the  vicarage 


40  END  r MI  ON. 

house,  a  modern  building,  not  without  taste,  and  surrounded 
by  a  small  but  brilliant  garden.  The  church  was  contiguous 
to  the  hall,  and  had  been  raised  by  the  lord  on  a  portion  of 
his  domain.  Behind  the  hall  and  its  enclosure  the  country 
was  common  land  but  picturesque.  It  had  once  been  a  beech 
forest,  and  though  the  timber  had  been  greatly  cleared,  the 
green  land  was  still  occasionally  dotted,  sometimes  with  groups 
and  sometimes  with  single  trees,  while  the  juniper  which  here 
abounded,  and  rose  to  a  great  height,  gave  a  rich  wildness  to 
the  scene,  and  sustained  its  forest  character. 

Hurstley  had  for  many  years  been  deserted  by  the  family  to 
which  it  belonged.  Indeed,  it  was  rather  difficult  to  say  to 
whom  it  did  belong.  A  dreary  fate  had  awaited  an  ancient, 
and,  in  its  time,  even  not  immemorable  home.  It  had  fallen 
into  chancery,  and  for  the  last  half-century  had  either  been  un- 
inhabited or  let  to  strangers.  Mr.  Ferrars'  lawyer  was  in  the 
chancery  suit,  and  knew  all  about  it.  The  difficulty  of  finding 
a  tenant  for  such  a  place,  never  easy,  was  increased  by  its  re- 
moteness from  any  railway  communication,  which  was  now 
beginning  to  figure  as  an  important  element  in  such  arrange- 
ments. The  Master  in  Chancery  would  be  satisfied  with  a 
nominal  rent,  provided  only  he  could  obtain  a  family  of  con- 
sideration to  hold  under  him.  Mr.  Ferrars  was  persuaded  to 
go  down  alone  to  reconnoitre  the  place.  It  pleased  him.  It 
was  aristocratic,  yet  singularly  inexpensive.  The  house  con- 
tained an  immense  hall  which  reached  the  roof,  and  which 
would  have  become  a  baronial  mansion,  and  a  vast  staircase  in 
keeping;  but  the  living  rooms  were  moderate,  even  small,  in 
dimensions,  and  not  numerous.  The  land  he  was  expected  to 
take  consisted  only  of  a  few  meadows,  which  he  could  let  if 
necessary,  and  a  single  laborer  could  manage  the  garden. 

Mrs.  Ferrars  was  so  delighted  with  the  description  of  the 
galleried  hall  that  she  resolved  on  their  taking  Hurstley  with- 
out even  her  previously  visiting  it.  The  only  things  she  cared 
for  in  the  country  were  a  hall  and  a  pony-chair. 

All  the  carriages  were  sold,  and  all  the  servants  discharged. 
Two  or  three  maid-servants  and  a  man  who  must  be  found  in 
the  country,  who  could  attend  them  at  table,  and  valet  alike  his 
master  and  the  pony,  were  the  establishment  which  was  to 
succeed  the  crowd  of  retainers  who  had  so  long  lounged  away 
their  lives  in  the  saloons  of  Hill  Street  and  the  groves  and 
gardens  of  Wimbledon. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ferrars  and  their  daughter  traveled  down  to 


ENDTMION.  41 

Hurstley  in  a  post-chaise;  Endymion,  with  the  servants,  was 
sent  by  the  stage-coach,  which  accomplished  the  journey  of 
sixty  miles  in  ten  hours.  Myra  said  little  during  the  journey, 
but  an  expression  of  ineffable  contempt  and  disgust  seemed 
permanent  on  her  countenance.  Sometimes  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  sometimes  she  raised  her  eyebrows,  and  sometimes 
she  turned  up  her  nose.  And  then  she  gave  a  sigh;  but  it  was 
a  sigh  not  of  sorrow,  but  of  impatience.  Her  parents  lavished 
attentions  on  her  which  she  accepted  without  recognition,  only 
occasionally  observing  that  she  wished  she  had  gone  with 
Endymion. 

It  was  dusk  when  they  arrived  at  Hurstley,  and  the  melan- 
choly hour  did  not  tend  to  raise  their  spirits.  However,  the 
gardener's  wife  had  lighted  a  good  fire  of  beech-wood  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  threw,  as  they  entered,  a  pannier  of  cones 
upon  the  logs,  which  crackled  and  cheerfully  blazed  away. 
Even  Myra  seemed  interested  by  the  novelty  of  the  wood 
fire  and  the  iron  dogs.  She  remained  by  their  side  looking 
abstractedly  on  the  expiring  logs,  while  her  parents  wandered 
about  the  house  and  examined  or  prepared  the  requisite 
arrangements.  While  they  were  yet  absent,  there  was  some 
noise  and  a  considerable  bustle  in  the  hall.  Endymion  and  his 
retinue  had  arrived.  Then  Myra  immediately  roused  herself 
and  listened  like  a  startled  deer.  But  the  moment  she  caught 
his  voice,  an  expression  of  rapture  suffused  her  countenance. 
It  beamed  with  vivacity  and  delight.  She  rushed  away,  pushed 
through  the  servants  and  the  luggage,  embraced  him,  and  said, 
"  We  will  go  over  the  house  and  see  our  rooms  together." 

Wandering  without  a  guide  and  making  many  mistakes, 
fortunately  they  soon  met  their  parents.  Mrs.  Ferrars  good- 
naturedly  recommenced  her  labors  of  inspection,  and  explained 
all  her  plans.  There  was  a  very  pretty  room  for  Endymion, 
and  to-morrow  it  was  to  be  very  comfortable.  He  was  quite 
pleased.  Then  they  were  shown  Myra's  room,  but  she  said 
nothing,  standing  by  with  a  sweet  scoff,  as  it  were,  lingering 
on  her  lips,  while  her  mother  disserted  on  all  the  excellencies 
of  the  chamber.  Then  they  were  summoned  to  tea.  The 
gardener's  wife  was  quite  a  leading  spirit,  and  had  prepared 
everything ;  the  curtains  were  drawn  and  the  room  lighted ;  an 
urn  hissed;  there  were  piles  of  bread  and  butter  and  a  pyramid 
of  buttered  toast.  It  was  wonderful  what  an  air  of  comfort 
had  been  conjured  up  in  this  dreary  mansion,  and  it  was  impos- 
sible for  the   travelers,  however  wearied  or  chagrined,  to  be 


42  END  r MI  ON. 

insensible  to  the  convenience  and  cheerfulness  of  all  around 
them. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  the  children  sat  together  in  whis- 
pering tattle.  Mrs.  Ferrars  had  left  the  room  to  see  if  all  was 
ready  for  their  hour  of  retirement,  and  Mr.  Ferrars  was  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  room,  absorbed  in  thought. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  all,  Endymion? "  whispered  Myra 
to  her  twin. 

"  I  rather  like  it,"  he  replied. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  of  blended  love  and  mock- 
ery ;  and  then  she  said  in  his  ear,  "  I  feel  as  if  we  had  fallen 
from  some  star." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  morrow  brought  a  bright  autumnal  morn,  and  every 
one  woke,  if  not  happy,  interested.  There  was  much  to  see 
and  much  to  do.  The  dew  was  so  heavy  that  the  children 
were  hot  allowed  to  quit  the  broad  gravel-walk  that  bounded 
one  side  of  the  old  house,  but  they  caught  enticing  vistas  of  the 
gleamy  glades,  and  the  abounding  light  and  shade  softened  and 
adorned  everything.  Every  sight  and  sound,  too,  was  novel, 
and,  from  the  rabbit  that  started  out  of  the  grove,  stared  at 
them  and  then  disappeared,  to  the  jays,  chattering  in  the  more 
distant  woods,  all  was  wonderment,  at  least  for  a  week.  They 
saw  squirrels  for  the  first  time,  and  for  the  first  time  beheld  a 
hedgehog.  Their  parents  were  busy  in  the  house;  Mr.  Fer- 
rars unpacking  and  settling  his  books,  and  his  wife  arranging 
some  few  articles  of  ornamental  furniture  that  had  been  saved 
from  the  London  wreck,  and  rendering  their  usual  room  of 
residence  as  refined  as  was  in  her  power.  It  is  astonishing 
how  much  eflfect  a  woman  of  taste  can  produce  with  a  pretty 
chair  or  two  full  of  fancy  and  color;  a  table  clothed  with  a 
few  books;  some  family  miniatures;  a  workbag  of  rich  mate- 
rial, and  some  toys  that  we  never  desert.  "  I  have  not  much 
to  work  with,"  said  Mrs.  Ferrars,  with  a  sigh,  "  but  I  think 
the  coloring  is  pretty." 

On  the  second  day  after  their  arrival,  the  rector  and  his  wife 
mavle  them  a  visit.  Mr.  Penruddock  was  a  naturalist,  and  had 
written  the  history  of  his  parish.  He  had  escaned  being  an 
Oxford  don  by  being  preferred  early  to  this  college  living,  but 
he  had   married  the  daughter  of  a  don,  who  appreciated  the 


END  r MI  ON,  43 

grand  manners  of  their  new  acquaintances,  and  who,  when  she 
had  overcome  their  first  rather  awe-inspiring  impression, 
became  communicative  and  amused  them  much  with  her 
details  respecting  the  little  world  in  which  they  were  now  to 
live.  She  could  not  conceal  her  wonderment  at  the  beauty  of 
the  twins,  though  they  were  no  longer  habited  in  those  dresses 
which  had  once  astonished  even  Mayfair. 

Part  of  the  scheme  of  the  new  life  was  the  education  of  the 
children  by  their  parents.  Mr.  Ferrars  had  been  a  dis- 
tinguished scholar,  and  was  still  a  good  one.  He  was  patient 
and  methodical,  and  deeply  interested  in  his  contemplated  task. 
So  far  as  disposition  was  concerned  the  pupil  was  not  disap- 
pointing. Endymion  was  of  ai-.  affectionate  disposition  and 
inclined  to  treat  his  father  with  deference.  He  was  gentle  and 
docile;  but  he  did  not  acquire  knowledge  with  facility,  and 
was  remarkably  deficient  in  that  previous  information  on  which 
his  father  counted.  The  other  pupil  was  of  a  different  tem- 
perament. She  learned  with  a  glance,  and  remembered  with 
extraordinary  tenacity  everything  she  had  acquired.  But  she 
was  neither  tender  nor  deferential,  and  to  induce  her  to  study 
you  could  not  depend  on  the  affections,  but  only  on  her  intel- 
ligence. So  she  was  often  fitful,  capricious  or  provoking,  and 
her  mother,  who,  though  accomplished  and  eager,  had  neither 
the  method  nor  the  self-restraint  of  Mr.  Ferrars,  was  often 
annoyed  and  irritable.  Then  there  were  scenes,  or  rather 
ebullitions  on  one  side,  for  Myra  was  always  unmoved  and 
enraging  from  her  total  want  of  sensibility.  Sometimes  it 
became  necessary  to  appeal  to  Mr.  Ferrars,  and  her  manner  to 
her  father,  though  devoid  of  feeling,  was  at  least  not  contemp- 
tuous. Nevertheless,  on  the  whole,  the  scheme,  as  time  went 
on,  promised  to  be  not  unsuccessful.  Endymion,  though  not 
rapidly,  advanced  surely,  and  made  some  amends  for  the 
years  that  had  been  wasted  in  fashionable  private  schools,  and 
the  then  frivolity  of  Eton.  Myra,  who,  notwithstanding  her 
early  days  of  indulgence,  had  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  admi- 
rable governesses,  was  well  grounded  in  more  than  one 
modern  lano^uagre,  and  she  soon  mastered  them.  And  in  due 
time,  though  much  after  the  period  on  which  we  are  now 
touching,  she  announced  her  desire  to  become  acquainted  with 
German,  in  those  days  a  much  rarer  acquirement  than  at  pres- 
.  ent.  Her  mother  could  not  help  her  in  this  respect,  and  that 
was  perhaps  an  additional  reason  for  the  study  of  this  tongue, 
for  Myra  was  impatient  of  tuition,  and  not  unjustly  full  of  self- 


44  END  r MI  ON. 

confidence.  She  took  also  the  keenest  interest  in  the  progress 
of  her  brother,  made  herself  acquainted  with  all  his  lessons, 
and  sometimes  helped  him  in  their  achievement. 

Though  they  had  absolutely  no  acquaintance  of  any  kind 
except  the  rector  and  his  family,  life  was  not  dull.  Mr.  Ferrars 
was  always  employed,  for,  besides  the  education  of  his  children, 
he  had  systematically  resumed  a  habit  in  which  he  had  before 
occasionally  indulged,  and  that  was  political  composition.  He 
had  in  his  lofty  days  been  the  author  of  more  than  one  essay, 
in  the  most  celebrated  periodical  publication  of  the  Tories, 
which  had  commanded  attention  and  obtained  celebrity. 
Many  a  public  man  of  high  rank  and  reputation,  and  even 
more  than  one  prime-minister,  had  contributed  in  their  time  to 
its  famous  pages,  but  never  without  being  paid.  It  was  the 
organic  law  of  this  publication,  that  gratuitous  contributions 
should  never  be  admitted.  And  in  this  principle  there  was  as 
much  wisdom  as  pride.  Celebrated  statesmen  would  point 
with  complacency  to  the  snufF-box  or  the  picture  which  had 
been  purchased  by  their  literary  labor,  and  there  was  more 
than  one  bracelet  on  the  arm  of  Mrs.  Ferrars,  and  more  than 
one  genet  in  her  stable,  which  had  been  the  reward  of  a  pro- 
found or  a  slashing  article  by  William. 

What  had  been  the  occasional  diversion  of  political  life  was 
now  to  be  the  source  of  regular  income.  Though  living  in 
profound  solitude,  Ferrars  had  a  vast  sum  or  ^political  experi- 
ence to  draw  upon,  and  though  his  training  and  general  intel- 
ligence were  in  reality  too  exclusive  and  academical  for  the 
stirring  age  which  had  now  opened,  and  on  which  he  had  un- 
happily fallen,  they  nevertheless  suited  the  audience  to  which 
they  were  particularly  addressed.  His  Corinthian  style,  in 
which  the  Maenad  of  Mr.  Burke  was  habited  in  the  last  mode 
of  Almack's,  his  sarcasms  against  the  illiterate  and  his  invec- 
tives against  the  low,  his  descriptions  of  the  country  life  of  the 
aristocracy  contrasted  with  the  horrors  of  the  guillotine,  his 
Horatian  allusions  and  his  Virgilian  passages,  combined  to  pro- 
duce a  whole  which  equally  fascinated  and  alarmed  his 
readers. 

These  contributions  occasioned  some  communications  with 
the  editor  or  publisher  of  the  Review^  which  were  not  without 
interest.  Parcels  came  down  by  the  coach,  enclosing  n<tt 
merely  proof-sheets,  but  frequently  new  books — the  pamphlet 
of  the  hour  before  it  was  published,  or  a  volume  of  discoveries 
in  unknown  lands.     It  was  a  link  to  the  world  they  had  quit- 


END  r MI  ON.  45 

ted  without  any  painful  associations.  Otherwise  their  com- 
munications with  the  outer  world  were  slight  and  rare.  It  is 
difficult  for  us  who  live  in  an  age  of  railroads,  telegraphs, 
penny  posts  and  penny  newspapers,  to  realize  how  uneventful, 
how  limited  in  thought  and  feeling,  as  well  as  in  incident,  was 
the  life  of  an  English  family  of  retired  habits  and  limited 
means,  only  forty  years  ago.  The  whole  world  seemed  to  be 
morally  as  well  as  materially,  "  adscripti  glebae." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ferrars  did  not  wish  to  move,  but  had  they  so 
wished,  it  would  have  been  under  any  circumstances  for  them 
a  laborious  and  costly  affair.  The  only  newspaper  they  saw 
was  the  Evenijtg  y]/«//,  which  arrived  three  times  a  week,  and 
was  the  Ti7nes  newspaper  with  all  its  contents  except  its  ad- 
vertisements. As  the  Times  newspaper  had  the  credit  of 
mainly  contributing  to  the  passing  of  Lord  Grey's  Reform 
Bill,  and  was  then  whispered  to  enjoy  the  incredible  sale  of 
twelve  thousand  copies  daily,  Mr.  Ferrars  assumed  that  in 
its  columns  he  would  trace  the  most  authentic  intimations  of 
coming  events.  The  cost  of  postage  was  then  so  heavy,  that 
domestic  correspondence  was  necessarily  very  restricted.  But 
this  vexatious  limitation  hardly  applied  to  the  Ferrars.  They 
had  never  paid  postage.  They  were  born  and  had  always 
lived  in  the  franking  world,  and  although  Mr.  Ferrars  had 
now  himself  lost  the  privilege,  both  official  and  parliamentary, 
still  all  their  correspondents  were  frankers,  and  they  addressed 
their  replies  without  compunction  to  those  who  were  free. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  astonishing  how  little  in  their  new  life 
they  cared  to  avail  themselves  of  this  correspondence.  At 
first  Zenobia  wrote  every  week,  almost  every  day,  to  Mrs. 
Ferrars,  but  after  a  time  Mrs.  Ferrars,  though  at  first  pleased 
by  the  attention,  felt  its  recognition  a  burden.  Then  Zenobia, 
who  at  length,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  had  taken  a 
gloomy  view  of  affairs,  relapsed  into  a  long  silence,  and  in  fact 
had  nearly  forgotten  the  Ferrars,  for,  as  she  herself  used  to  say, 
"  How  can  one  recollect  people  whom  one  never  meets." 

In  the  mean  time,  for  we  have  been  a  little  anticipating  in 
our  last  remarks,  the  family  at  Hurstley  were  much  pleased 
with  the  country  they  now  inhabited.  They  made  excursions 
of  discovery  into  the  interior  of  their  world,  Mrs.  Ferrars  and 
Myra  in  the  pony  chair,  her  husband  and  Endymion  walking 
by  their  side,  and  Endymion  sometimes  taking  his  sister's  seat 
against  his  wish,  but  in  deference  to  her  irresistible  will.  Even 
Myra  could  hardly  be  insensible  to  the  sylvan  wildness  of  the 


46  ENDTMION, 

old  chase,  and  the  romantic  villages  in  the  wooded  clefts  of  the 
downs.  As  for  Endymion,  he  was  delighted,  and  it  seemed  to 
him,  perhaps  he  unconsciously  felt  it,  that  this  larger  and  more 
frequent  experience  of  nature  was  a  compensation  for  much 
which  they  had  lost. 

After  a  time,  when  they  had  become  a  little  acquainted  with 
their  simple  neighborhood,  and  the  first  impression  of  wildness 
and  novelty  had  worn  out,  the  twins  were  permitted  to  walk 
together  alone,  though  within  certain  limits.  The  village  and 
its  vicinity  were  quite  free,  but  they  were  not  permitted  to 
enter  the  woods,  and  not  to  wander  on  the  chase  out  of  sight 
of  the  mansion.  These  walks  alone  with  Endymion  were  the 
greatest  pleasure  of  his  sister.  She  delighted  to  make  him 
tell  her  of  his  life  at  Eton,  and  if  she  ever  sighed  it  was  when 
she  lamented  that  his  residence  there  had  been  so  short.  Then 
they  found  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  interest  and  sympathy  in 
the  past.  They  wondered  if  they  ever  should  have  ponies 
again.  "  I  think  not,"  said  Myra,  "  and  yet  how  merry  to 
scamper  together  over  this  chase!  " 

"  But  they  would  not  let  us  go,"  said  Endymion,  "  without  a 
groom." 

"  A  groom ! "  exclaimed  Myra,  with  an  elfish  laugh ;  "  I  be- 
lieve if  the  truth  were  really  known,  we  ought  to  be  making 
our  own  beds  and  washing  our  own  dinner-plates." 

"  And  are  you  sorry,  Myra,  for  all  that  has  happened  ? " 
asked  Endymion. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  has  happened.  They  keep  it  very 
close.  But  I  am  too  astonished  to  be  sorry.  Besides,  what  is 
the  use  of  whimpering?" 

"  I  cried  very  much  one  day,"  said  Endymion. 

"Ah!  you  are  soft,  dear  darling.  I  never  cried  in  my  life, 
except  once  with  rage." 

At  Christmas  a  new  character  appeared  on  the  stage,  the 
rector's  son,  Nigel.  He  had  completed  a  year  with  a  private 
tutor,  and  was  on  the  eve  of  commencing  his  first  term  at 
Oxford,  being  eighteen,  nearly  five  years  older  than  the  twins. 
He  was  tall,  with  a  countenance  of  remarkable  intelligence 
and  power,  though  still  softened  by  the  innocence  and  bloom 
of  boyhood.  He  was  destined  to  be  a  clergyman.  The  twins 
were  often  thrown  into  his  society,  for  though  too  old  to  be 
their  mere  companion,  his  presence  was  an  excuse  for  Mrs. 
Penruddock  more  frequently  joining  them  in  their  strolls,  and 
under  her  auspices  their  wanderings  had  no  limit,  except  the 


ENDTMION,  47 

shortness  of  the  days;  but  they  found  some  compensation  for 
this  in  their  frequent  visits  to  the  rectory,  which  was  a  cheerful 
and  agreeable  home,  full  of  stuffed  birds,  and  dried  plants,  and 
marvellous  fishes,  and  other  innocent  trophies  and  triumphs 
over  nature. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  tenant  of  the  Manor  Farm  was  a  good  specimen  of  his 
class;  a  thorough  Saxon,  ruddy  and  bright  visaged,  with  an 
athletic  though  rather  bulky  frame,  hardened  by  exposure  to 
the  seasons  and  constant  exercise.  Although  he  was  the  tenant 
of  several  hundred  acres,  he  had  an  eye  to  the  main  chance  in 
little  things,  which  is  a  characteristic  of  farmers,  but  he  was 
good-natured  and  obliging,  and  while  he  foraged  their  pony, 
furnished  their  woodyard  with  logs  and  fagots,  and  supplied 
them  from  his  dairy,  he  gratuitously  performed  for  the  family 
at  the  hall  many  other  offices  which  tended  to  their  comfort 
and  convenience,  but  which  cost  him  nothing. 

Mr.  Ferrars  liked  to  have  a  chat  every  now  and  then  with 
Farmer  Thornberry,  who  had  a  shrewd  and  idiomatic  style  of 
expressing  his  limited,  but  in  its  way  complete,  experience  of 
men  and  things,  which  was  amusing  and  interesting  to  a  man 
of  the  world  whose  knowledge  of  rural  life  was  mainly  de- 
rived from  grand  shooting-parties  at  great  houses. 

The  pride  and  torment  of  Farmer  Thornberry's  life  was  his 
only  child.  Job. 

"  I  gave  him  the  best  of  educations,"  said  the  farmer.  "He 
had  a  much  better  chance  than  I  had  myself,  for  I  do  not 
pretend  to  be  a  scholar,  and  never  was ;  and  yet  I  cannot  make 
head  or  tail  of  him.  I  wish  you  would  speak  to  him,  some 
day,  sir.  He  goes  against  the  land,  and  yet  we  have  been  on 
it  for  three  generations,  and  have  nothing  to  complain  of;  and 
he  is  a  good  farmer  too,  is  Job,  none  better;  a  little  too  fond  of 
experimenting,  but  then  he  is  young.  But  I  am  very  much 
afraid  he  will  leave  me.  I  think  it  is  this  new  thing  the  big- 
wigs have  set  up  in  London  that  has  put  him  wrong,  for  he  is 
always  reading  their  papers." 

"And  what  is  that?"  said  Mr.  Ferrars. 

"Well,  they  call  themselves  the  Society  for  the  Diffusion  of 
Knowledge,  and  Lord  Brougham  is  at  the  head  of  it." 

"  Ah!  he  is  a  dangerous  man,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars. 

"  Do  you  know  I  think  he  is,"  said  Farmer  Thornberry j  very 


48  END  r MI  ON, 

seriously,  "and  by  this  token — he  says  a  knowledge  of  chem- 
istry is  necessary  for  the  cultivation  of  the  soil." 

"  Brougham  is  a  man  who  would  say  anything,"  said  Mr. 
Ferrars,  "  and  of  one  thing  you  may  be  quite  certain,  that  there 
is  no  subject  which  Lord  Brougham  knows  thoroughly.  I 
have  proved  that,  and  if  you  ever  have  time  some  winter 
evening  to  read  something  on  the  matter,  I  will  lend  you  a 
number  of  the  Quarterly  Review^  which  might  interest  you." 

"  I  wish  you  would  lend  it  to  Job,"  said  the  farmer. 

Mr.  Ferrars  found  Job  not  so  manageable  in  controversy  as 
his  father.  His  views  were  peculiar,  and  his  conclusions  cer- 
tain. He  had  more  than  a  smattering  too  of  political  economy, 
a  kind  of  knowledge  which  Mr.  Ferrars  viewed  with  suspicion; 
for  though  he  had  himself  been  looked  upon  as  enlightened  in 
this  respect  in  the  last  years  of  Lord  Liverpool,  when  Lord 
Wallace  and  Mr.  Huskisson  were  astonishing  the  world,  he 
had  relapsed,  after  the  schism  of  the  Tory  party,  into  ortho- 
doxy, and  was  satisfied  that  the  tenets  of  the  economists  were 
mere  theories,  or  could  only  be  reduced  into  practice  by  revo- 
lution. 

"  But  it  is  a  pleasant  life,  that  of  a  farmer,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars 
to  Job. 

"  Yes,  but  life  should  be  something  more  than  pleasant," 
said  Job,  who  always  looked  discontented;  "  an  ox  in  a  pasture 
has  a  pleasant  life." 

"  Well,  and  why  should  it  not  be  a  profitable  one,  too?"  said 
Mr.  Ferrars. 

"  I  do  not  see  my  way  to  that,"  said  Job,  moodily ;  "  there  is 
not  much  to  be  got  out  of  the  land  at  any  time,  and  still  less 
on  the  terms  we  hold  it. 

'*  But  you  are  not  high-rented !" 

"  Oh,  rent  is  nothing,  if  everything  else  were  right,  but 
nothing  is  right,"  said  Job.  "  In  the  first  place,  a  farmer  is  the 
only  trader  who  has  no  security  for  his  capital." 

"  Ah!  you  want  a  lease?"  . 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  a  lease  like  any  that  I  have 
seen,"  replied  Job.  "  We  had  one  once  in  our  family,  and  we 
•keep  it  as  a  curiosity.  It  is  ten  skins  long,  and  more  tyran- 
nical nonsense  was  never  engrossed  by  man." 

"  But  your  family,  I  believe,  has  been  on  this  estate  for  gen- 
erations now,"  said  Mr.  Ferras,  "  and  they  have  done  well." 

"  They  have  done  about  as  well  as  their  stock.  They  have 
existed,"  said  Job ;  "  nothing  more." 


END  r MI  ON,  49 

"  Your  father  always  gives  me  quite  the  idea  of  a  prosperous 
man,"  said  Mr.  Fcrrars. 

"  Whether  he  be  or  not  I  am  sure  I  cannot  say,"  said  Job ; 
"  for  as  neither  he  nor  any  of  his  predecessors  ever  kept  any 
accounts,  it  is  rather  difficult  to  ascertain  their  exact  condition. 
So  long  as  he  has  money  enough  in  his  pocket  to  pay  his 
laborers  and  buy  a  little  stock,  my  father,  like  every  British 
farmer,  is  content.  The  fact  is,  he  is  a  serf  as  much  as  his 
men,  and  until  we  get  rid  of  feudalism,  he  will  remain  so." 

"  These  are  strong  opinions,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars,  drawing 
himself  up,  and  looking  a  little  cold. 

"  Yes,  but  they  will  make  their  way,"  said  Job.  "  So  far  as 
I  myself  am  concerned,  I  do  not  much  care  what  happens  to 
the  land,  for  I  do  not  mean  to  remain  on  it;  but  I  care  for  the 
country.  For  the  sake  of  the  country  I  should  like  to  see  the 
whole  thing  upset." 

"What  thing?""  asked  Mr.  Ferrars. 

"  Feudalism,"  said  Job.  "  I  should  like  to  see  this  estate 
managed  on  the  same  principles  as  they  do  their  great  estab- 
lishments in  the  north  of  England.  Instead  of  feudalism,  I 
would  substitute  the  commercial  principle.  I  would  have  long 
leases  without  covenants;  no  useless  timber,  and  no  game." 

"  Why,  you  would  destroy  the  country,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars. 

"  We  owe  everything  to  t'he  large  towns,"  said  Job. 

"  The  people  in  the  large  towns  are  miserable,"  said  Mr. 
Ferrars. 

"  They  cannot  be  more  miserable  than  the  people  in  the 
country,"  said  Job. 

"  Their  wretchedness  is  notorious,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars.  "Look 
at  their  riots." 

"Well,  we  had  Swing  in  the  country  only  two  or  three 
years  ago." 

Mr.  Ferrars  looked  sad.  The  reminiscence  was  too  near 
and  too  fatal.  After  a  pause,  he  said  with  an  air  of  decision, 
and  as  if  imparting  a  state  secret,  "  If  it  were  not  for  the  agri- 
cultural districts,  the  king's  army  could  not  be  recruited." 

"  Well,  that  would  not  break  my  heart,"  said  Job. 

"  Why,  my  good  fellow,  you  are  a  Radical ! " 

"  They  may  call  me  what  they  like,"  said  Job;  "but  it  will 
not  alter  matters.  However,  I  am  going  among  the  Radicals 
soon,  and  then  I  shall  know  what  they  are." 

"And  can  you  leave  your  truly  respectable  parent?  "said 


50  ENDTMION. 

Mr.  Ferrars  rather  solemnly,  for  he  remembered  his  promise 
to  Farmer  Thornberry  to  speak  seriously  to  his  son. 

"  Oh !  my  respectable  parent  will  do  very  well  without  me, 
sir.  Only  let  him  be  able  to  drive  into  Bamford  on  market- 
day,  and  get  two  or  three  linen-drapers  to  take  their  hats  off  to 
him,  and  he  will  be  happy  enough,  and  always  ready  to  die  for 
our  glorious  Constitution," 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-two,  the  darkest  and 
most  distressing  year  in  the  life  of  Mr.  Ferrars,  closed  in 
comparative  calm  and  apparent  content.  He  was  himself 
greatly  altered,  both  in  manner  and  appearance.  He  was  kind 
and  gentle,  but  he  was  silent,  and  rarely  smiled.  His  hair  was 
grizzled,  and  he  began  to  stoop.  But  he  was  always  employed, 
and  was  interested  in  his  labors. 

His  sanguine  wife  bore  up  against  their  misfortunes  with 
far  more  animation.  She  was  at  first  amused  with  her  new 
life,  and  when  she  was  accustomed  to  it  she  found  a  never- 
failing  resource  in  her  conviction  of  a  coming  reaction.  Mrs. 
Ferrars  possessed  most  feminine  qualities,  and  many  of  them 
in  excess.  She  could  not  reason,  but  her  intuition  was  remark- 
able. She  was  of  opinion  that  "  these  people  never  could  go 
on,"  and  that  they  must  necessarily  be  succeeded  by  William 
and  his  friends.  In  vain  her  husband,  when  she  pressed  her 
views  and  convictions  upon  him,  would  shake  his  head  over 
the  unprecedented  majority  of  the  government,  and  sigh  while 
he  acknowledged  that  the  Tories  absolutely  did  not  now  com- 
mand one  fifth  of  the  House  of  Commons.  His  shakes  and 
sighs  were  equally  disregarded  by  her,  and  she  persisted  in 
her  dreams  of  riding  upon  elephants. 

After  all  Mrs.  Ferrars  was  right.  There  is  nothing  more 
remarkable  in  political  history  than  the  sudden  break-up  of  the 
Whig  party  after  their  successful  revolution  of  1832.  It  is  one 
of  the  most  striking  instances  on  record  of  all  the  elements  of 
political  power  being  useless  without  a  commanding  individual 
will.  During  the  second  year  of  their  exile  in  the  Berkshire 
hills,  affairs  looked  so  black  that  it  seemed  no  change  could  oc- 
cur except  further  and  more  calamitous  revolution.  Zenobia 
went  to  Vienna  that  she  might  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  law 
and  order,  and  hinted  to  Mrs.  Ferrars  that  probably  she 
should  never  return — at  least  not  until  Parliament  met,  when 


NDTMION.  51 

she  trusted  the  House  of  Lords,  if  they  were  not  abolished  in 
the  interval,  would  save  the  country.  And  yet  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  following  year  an  old  colleague  of  Mr.  Fer- 
rars  apprised  him,  in  the  darkest  and  the  deepest  confidence, 
that  "  there  was  a  screw  loose,"  and  he  must  "  look  out  for 
squalls." 

In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Ferrars  increased  and  established  his 
claims  on  his  party,  if  they  ever  did  rally,  by  his  masterly  ar- 
ticles in  their  great  Review^  which  circumstances  favored,  and 
which  kept  up  that  increasing  feeling  of  terror  and  despair 
which  then  was  deemed  necessary  to  the  advancement  of  Con- 
servative opinions. 

At  home  a  year  and  more  had  elapsed  without  change. 
The  occasional  appearance  of  Nigel  Penruddock  was  the 
only  event.  It  was  to  all  a  pleasing,  and  to  some  of  the  fam- 
ily an  interesting  one.  Nigel,  though  a  student  and  devoted 
to  the  holy  profession  for  which  he  was  destined,  was  also  a 
sportsman.  His  Christianity  was  muscular,  and  Endymion,  to 
whom  he  had  taken  a  fancy,  became  the  companion  of  his 
pastimes.  All  the  shooting  of  the  estate  was  at  Nigel's  com- 
mand, but  as  there  were  no  keepers,  it  was  of  course  very 
rough  work.  Still  it  was  a  novel  and  animating  life  for  Endy- 
mion ;  and  though  the  sport  was  slight,  the  pursuit  was  keen. 
Then  Nigel  was  a  great  fisherman,  and  here  their  efforts  had 
a  surer  return;  for  they  dwelt  in  a  land  of  trout  streams,  and 
in  their  vicinitv  was  a  not  inconsiderable  river.  It  was  an  ad- 
venture of  delight  to  pursue  some  of  these  streams  to  their 
source,  throwing,  as  they  rambled  on,  the  fly  in  the  rippling 
waters.  Myra,  too,  took  some  pleasure  in  these  fishing  expe- 
ditions, carrying  their  luncheon  and  a  German  book  in  her 
wallet,  and  sitting  quietly  on  the  bank  for  hours,  when  they 
had  fixed  upon  some  favored  pool  for  a  prolonged  campaign. 

Every  time  that  Nigel  returned  home,  a  difference,  and  a 
striking  difference  was  observed  in  him.  His  person,  of  course, 
became  more  manly,  his  manner  more  assured,  his  dress  more 
modish.  It  was  impossible  to  deny  that  he  was  extremely 
good-looking,  interesting  in  his  discourse,  and  distinguished  in 
his  appearance.  Endymion  idolized  him.  Nigel  was  his 
model.  ■  He  imitated  his  manner,  caught  the  tone  of  his  voice, 
and  began  to  give  opinions  on  subjects,  sacred  and  profane. 

After  a  hard  morning's  march,  one  day,  as  they  were  lolling 
on  the  turf  amid  the  old  beeches  and  juniper,  Nigel  said, 

"  What  does  Mr.  Ferrars  mean  you  to  be,  Endymion?  " 


52  ENDYMtON. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Endymion,  looking  perplexed. 

"  But  I  suppose  you  are  to  be  something  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  suppose  I  must  be  something;  because  papa  has  lost 
his  fortune." 

"  And  what  would  you  like  to  be  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  about  it,"  said  Endymion. 

"  In  my  opinion  there  is  only  one  thing  for  a  man  to  be  in 
this  age,"  said  Nigel,  peremptorily ;  "  he  should  go  into  the 
Church." 

"  The  Church ! "  said  Endymion. 

"  There  will  soon  be  nothing  else  left,"  said  Nigel.  "  The 
Church  must  last  forever.  It  is  built  upon  a  rock.  It  was 
founded  by  God;  all  other  governments  have  been  founded  by 
men.  When  they  are  destroyed,  and  the  process  of  destruction 
seems  rapid,  there  will  be  nothing  left  to  govern  mankind  except 
the  Church." 

"  Indeed!  "  said  Endymion;  "papa  is  very  much  in  favor  of 
the  Church,  and,  I  know,  is  writing  something  about  it." 

"Yes;  but  Mr.  Ferrars  is  an  Erastian,"  said  Nigel;  "you 
need  not  tell  him  I  said  so,  but  he  is  one.  He  wants  the 
Church  to  be  the  servant  of  the  State,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing ;  but  that  will  not  do  any  longer.  This  destruction  of  the 
Irish  bishoprics  has  brought  affairs  to  a  crisis.  No  hunmn 
power  has  the  right  to  destroy  a  bishopric.  It  is  a  divinely 
ordained  office,  and  when  a  diocese  is  once  established,  it  is 
eternal."  ; 

"  I  see,"  said  Endymion,  much  interested. 

"  I  wish,"  continued  Nigel,  "  you  were  two  or  three  years 
older,  and  Mr.  Ferrars  could  send  you  to  Oxford.  That  is  the 
place  to  understand  these  things,  and  they  will  soon  be  the  only 
things  to  understand.  The  rector  knows  nothing  about  them. 
My  father  is  thoroughly  high  and  dry,  and  has  not  the  slight- i 
est  idea  of  Church  princij^les." 

"  Indeed!"  said  Endymion. 

"It  is  quite  a  new  set  even  at  Oxford,"  continued  Nigel;; 
"  but  their  principles  are  as  old  as  the  Apostles,  and  come  down 
from  tliem,  straight." 

"  That  is  a  long  time  ago,"  said  Endymion. 

"  I  have  a  great  fancy,"  continued  Nigel,  without  apparently 
attending  to  him,  "  to  give  you  a  thorough  Church  education. j 
It  would  be  the  making  of  you.     You  would  then  have  a  pur- 
pose in  life,  and  never  be  in  doubt  or  perplexity  on  any  sub- 


ENDTMION,  53 

ject.  We. ought  to  move  heaven  and  earth  to  induce  Mr. 
iFerrars  to  send  you  to  Oxford." 

"  I  w^ill  speak  to  Myra  about  it,"  said  Endymion. 

"  I  said  something  of  this  to  your  sister  the  other  day,"  said 
Nigel,  "  but  I  fear  she  is  terribly  Erastian.  However,  I  w^ill 
give  you  something  to  read.  It  is  not  very  long,  but  you  can 
read  it  at  your  leisure,  and  then  we  will  talk  over  it  afterwards; 
and  perhaps  I  may  give  you  some'thing  else." 

Endymion  did  not  fail  to  give  a  report  of  this  conversation 
and  similar  ones  to  his  sister,  for  he  was  in  the  habit  of  telling 
her  everything.  She  listened  with  attention,  but  not  with 
interest,  to  his  story.  Her  expression  was  kind,  but  hardly 
serious.  Her  wondrous  eyes  gave  him  a  glance  of  blended 
mockery  and  affection.  "  Dear  darling,"  she  said,  "  if  you  are 
to  be  a  clergyman,  I  should  like  you  to  b§  a  cardinal." 


CHAPTER  XV. 


The  dark,  deep  hints  that  had  reached  Mr.  Ferrars  at  the 
beginning  of  1834  were  the  harbingers  of  startling  events.  In 
the  spring  it  began  to  be  rumored  among  the  initiated  that  the 
mighty  Reform  Cabinet,  with  its  colossal  majority  and  its 
testimonial  goblets  of  gold,  raised  by  the  penny  subscriptions 
of  a  grateful  people,  was  in  convulsions,  and  before  the  month 
of  July  had  elapsed.  Lord  Grey  had  resigned ;  under  circum- 
stances which  exhibited  the  entire  demoralization  of  his  partv. 
Except  Zenobia,  every  one  was  of  opinion  that  the  king  acted 
wisely  in  intrusting  the  reconstruction  of  the  Whig  ministry 
to  his  late  Secretary  of  State,  Lord  Melbourne.  Nevertheless 
it  could  no  longer  be  concealed,  nay,  it  was  invariably  admitted 
that  the  political  situation  had  been  largely  and  most  unex- 
pectedly changed,  and  that  there  was  a  prospect,  dim,  perhaps, 
yet  not  undefinable  of  the  conduct  of  public  affairs  again  falling 
to  the  alternate  management  of  two  rival  constitutional  parties. 

Zenobia  was  so  full  of  hope,  and  almost  of  triumph,  that  she 
induced  her  lord  in  the  autumn  to  assemble  their  political 
friends  at  one  of  his  great  seats,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ferrars 
were  urgently  invited  to  join  the  party.  But,  after  some  hesi- 
tation, they  declined  this  proposal.  Had  Mr.  Ferrars  been  as  san- 
guine as  his  wife,  he  would  perhaps  have  overcome  his  strong  dis- 
inclination to  re-enter  the  world ;  but  though  no  longer  despair- 
ing of  a  Tory  revival,  he  was  of  opinion  that  a  considerable 


54  -ENDTMION, 

period,  even  several  years,  must  elapse  before  its  occurrence. 
Strange  to  say,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  follow^ing  his  own 
humor  through  any  contrary  disposition  on  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Ferrars.  With  all  her  ambition  and  passionate  love  of  society, 
she  was  unwilling  to  return  to  that  stage,  where  she  once  had 
blazed,  in  a  subdued  and  almost  subordinate  position.  In  foct, 
it  was  an  affair  of  the  wardrobe.  The  queen  of  costumes, 
whose  fanciful  and  gorgeous  attire  even  Zenobia  was  wont  to 
praise,  could  not  endure  a  reappearance  in  old  dresses.  "  I  do 
not  so  much  care  about  my  jewels,  William,"  she  said  to 
her  husband,  "  but  one  must  have  new  dresses." 

It  was  a  still  mild  day  in  November,  a  month  which,  in  the 
country,  and  especially  on  the  light  soils,  has  many  charms, 
and  the  whole  P^errars  family  were  returning  home  after  an 
afternoon  ramble  on  the  chase.  The  leaf  had  changed,  but  had 
not  fallen,  and  the  vast  spiral  masses  of  the  dark-green  juniper 
effectively  contrasted  with  the  rich  brown  foliage  of  the  beech, 
varied  occasionally  by  the  scarlet  leaves  of  the  wild-cherry 
tree  that  always  mingles  with  these  woods.  Around  the 
house  were  some  lime-trees,  of  large  size,  and  at  this  period  of 
the  year  their  foliage,  still  perfect,  was  literally  quite  golden. 
They  seemed  like  trees  in  some  fairy  tale  of  imprisoned  prin- 
cesses or  wandering  cavaliers,  and  such  they  would  remain  un- 
tfl  the  fatal  night  that  brings  the  first  frost. 
*-^'  There  is  a  parcel  from  London,"  said  the  servant  to  Mr. 
Ferrars,  as  they  entered  the  house.     "  It  is  on  your  desk." 

A  parcel  from  London  was  one  of  the  great  events  of  their 
life.  What  could  it  be  ?  Perhaps  some  proofs,  probably  some 
books.  Mr.  Ferrars  entered  his  room  alone.  It  was  a  very 
small  brown  paper  parcel,  evidently  not  books.  He  opened  it 
hastily,  and  disencumbered  its  contents  of  several  coverings. 
The  contents  took  the  form  of  a  letter — a  single  letter. 

The  handwriting  was  recognized  and  he  read  the  letter  with 
an  agitated  countenance,  and  then  he  opened  the  door  of  his 
room,  and  called  loudly  for  his  wife,  who  was  by  his  side  in  a 
few  moments. 

"  A  letter,  my  love,  from  Barron,"  he  cried.  "  The  king 
has  dismissed  Lord  Melbourne  and  sent  for  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington, who  has  accepted  the  conduct  of  affairs." 

"  You  most  go  to  town  directly,"  said  his  wife,  "  he  offered 
you  the  cabinet  in  1832.  No  person  has  such  a  strong  claim 
on  him  as  you  have." 

♦'  It  does  not  appear  that  he  is  exactly  prime-minister,"  said 


END  r MI  on:  55 

Mr.  Ferrars,  looking  again  at  the  letter."  "  They  have  sent 
for  Peel,  who  is  at  Rome,  but  the  duke  is  to  conduct  the  govern- 
ment till  he  arrives. 

"  You  must  go  to  town  immediately,"  repeated  Mrs.  Fer- 
rars. "  There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  Send  down  to  the 
Horse-shoe  and  secure  an  inside  place  in  the  Salisbury  coach. 
It  reaches  this  place  at  nine  to-morrow  morning.  I  will  have 
everything  ready.  You  must  take  a  portmanteau  and  a  car- 
pet-bag. I  wonder  if  you  could  get  a  bedroom  at  the  Rod- 
neys'. It  would  be  so  nice  to  be  among  old  friends;  they 
must  feel  for  you.  And  then  it  will  be  near'  the  Carlton,  which 
is  a  great  thing.  I  wonder  how  he  will  form  his  cabinet. 
What  a  pity  he  is  not  here !  " 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  event,  but  the  difficulties  must  be  im- 
mense," observed  Ferrars. 

"  Oh!  you  always  see  difficulties.  I  see  none.  The  king  is 
with  us,  the  country  is  disgusted.  It  is  what  I  always  said 
would  be;  the  reaction  is  complete." 

"  Well,  we  had  better  now  go  and  tell  the  children,"  said 
Ferrars.  "  I  leave  you  all  here  for  the  first  time,"  and  he 
seemed  to  sigh. 

"  Well,  I  hope  we  shall  soon  join  you,"  said  Mrs.  Ferrars. 
"  It  is  the  very  best  time  for  hiring  a  house.  What  I  have 
set  my  heart  upon  is  the  Green  Park.  It  will  be  near  your 
office  and  not  too  near.  I  am  sure  I  could  not  live  again  in  a 
street." 

The  children  were  informed  that  public  events  of  importance 
had  occurred,  that  the  king  had  changed  his  ministry,  and  that 
papa  must  go  up  to  town  immediately  and  see  the  Duke  of 
Wellington.  The  eyes  of  Mrs.  Ferrars  danced  with  excite- 
ment as  she  communicated  to  them  all  this  intelligence,  and 
much  more,  with  a  volubility  in  which,  of  late  years,  she  had 
rarely  indulged.  Mr.  Ferrars  looked  grave  and  said  little. 
Then  he  patted  Endymion  on  the  head  and  kissed  Myra,  who 
returned  his  embrace  with  a  warmth  unusual  with  her. 

The  whole  household  soon  became  in  a  state  of  bustle  with 
the  preparations  for  the  early  departure  of  Mr.  Ferrars.  It 
seemed  difficult  to  comprehend  how  filling  a  portmanteau  and 
a  carpet-bag  could  induce  such  excited  and  continuous  exertions. 
But  then  there  was  so  much  to  remember,  and  then  there  was 
always  something  forgotten.  Mrs.  Ferrars  was  in  her  bed- 
room surrounded  by  all  her  maids;    Mr,  Ferrars  was  in  his 


56  ENDTMION, 

study  looking  out  some  papers  which  it  was  necessary  to  take 
with  him.     The  children  were  alone. 

"  I  wonder  if  we  shall  be  restored  to  our  greatness,"  said 
Myra  to  Endymion. 

"Well,  I  shall  be  sorry  to  leave  the  old  place;  I  have  been 
happy  here." 

"  I  have  not,"  said  Myra,  "  and  I  do  not  think  I  could  have 
borne  this  life  had  it  not  been  for  you." 

"  It  will  be  a  wonderful  change,"  said  Endymion. 

"If  it  come;  I  fear  papa  is  not  daring  enough.  However, 
if  we  get  out  of  this  hole,  it  will  be  something. 

Tea-time  brought  them  all  together  again,  but  when  the 
meal  was  over  none  of  the  usual  occupations  of  the  evening 
were  pursued;  no  work,  no  books,  no  reading  aloud.  Mr. 
Ferrars  was  to  get  up  very  early,  and  that  was  a  reason  for  all 
retiring  soon.  And  yet  neither  the  husband  nor  the  wife  really 
cared  to  sleep.  Mrs.  Ferrars  sat  by  the  fire  in  his  dressing- 
room,  speculating  on  all  possible  combinations,  and  infusing 
into  him  all  her  suggestions  and  all  her  schemes.  She  was 
still  prudent  and  still  would  have  preferred  a  great  government 
— India  if  possible;  but  had  made  up  her  mind  that  he  muFt 
accept  the  cabinet.  Considering  what  had  occurred  in  1S32, 
she  thought  he  was  bound  in  honor  to  do  so.  Her  husband 
listened  rather  than  conversed,  and  seemed  lost  in  thought. 
At  last  he  rose  and,  embracing  her  with  much  affection,  said, 
"  You  forget  I  am  to  rise  with  the  Inrk.  I  shall  write  to  you 
every  day.  Best  and  dearest  of  women,  you  have  always  been 
right,  and  all  my  good-fortune  has  come  from  you." 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

It  was  a  very  tedious  journey,  and  it  took  the  whole  day  to 
accomplish  a  distance  which  a  rapid  express  train  now  can 
achieve  in  an  hour.  The  coach  carried  six  inside  passengers, 
and  they  had  to  dine  on  the  road.  All  the  passengers  were 
strangers  to  Mr.  Ferrars,  and  he  was  by  them  unknown;  one 
of  them  purchased,  though  with  difficulty,  a  second  edition  of 
the  Times  as  they  approached  London,  and  favored  his  fellow- 
travellers  with  the  news  of  the  change  of  ministry.  There 
was  much  excitement,  and  the  purchaser  of  the  paper  gave  it 
as  his  opinion  "  that  it  was  an  intrigue  of  the  court  and  the 
Tories,  and  would  never  do."  Another  modestly  intimated 
that  he  thouoht  there  was  a  decided  reaction.     A  third   an- 


ENDTMION.  57 

nounced  that  England  would  never  submit  to  be  governed  by 
O'Connell. 

As  the  gloom  of  evening  descended  Mr.  Ferrars  felt  de- 
pressed. Though  his  life  at  Hurstley  had  been  pensive  and 
melancholy,  he  felt  now  the  charm  and  the  want  of  that  sweet 
domestic  distraction  which  had  often  prevented  his  mind  from 
overbrooding,  and  had  softened  life  by  sympathy  in  little  things. 
Nor  was  it  without  emotion  that  he  found  himself  again  in 
London,  that  proud  city  where  once  he  had  himself  been  so 
proud.  The  streets  were  lighted,  and  seemed  swarming  with 
an  infinite  population,  and  the  coach  finally  stopped  at  a  great 
inn  in  the  Strand,  where  Mr.  Ferrars  thought  it  prudent  to  se- 
cure accommodation  for  the  night.  It  was  too  late  to  look  after 
the  Rodneys,  but  in  deference  to  the  strict  injunction  of  Mrs. 
Ferrars,  he  paid  them  a  visit  next  morning  on  his  way  to  his 
political  chief. 

In  the  days  of  the  great  modistes,  when  an  English  lady 
might  absolutely  be  dressed  in  London  the  most  celebrated 
mantua-maker  in  that  city  was  Madame  Euphrosyne.  She 
was  as  fascinating  as  she  was  fashionable.  She  was  so  grace- 
ful, her  manners  were  so  pretty,  so  natural,  and  so  insinuating! 
She  took  so  lively  an  interest  in  her  clients — her  very  heart 
was  in  their  good  looks.  She  was  a  great  favorite  of  Mrs. 
Ferrars,  and  that  lady  of  Madame  Euphrosyne.  She  assured 
Mrs.  Ferrars  that  she  was  prouder  of  dressing  Mrs.  Ferrars 
than  all  the  other  fine  ladies  in  London  together,  and  Mrs. 
Ferrars  believed  her.  Unfortunately,  while  in  the  way  of 
making  a  large  fortune,  Madame  Europhsyne,  who  was  ro- 
mantic, fell  in  love  with,  and  married,  a  very  handsome  and 
worthless  husband,  whose  good  looks  had  obtained  for  him  a 
position  in  the  company  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  then  a  place 
of  refined  resort,  v/hich  his  abilities  did  not  justify.  After  pil- 
laging and  plundering  his  wife  for  many  years,  he  finally  in- 
volved her  in  such  engao^ements  that  she  had  to  take  rofusre  in 
the  Bankruptcy  Court.  Her  business  was  ruined  and  her 
spirit  was  broken,  and  she  died  shortly  after  of  adversi'ty  and 
chagrin.  Her  daughter  Sylv'a  was  then  eighteen,  and  had  in- 
herited with  the  grace  of  her  mother  the  beauty  of  her  less 
reputable  parent.  Her  figure  was  slight  and  luidulating,  and 
she  was  always  exquisitely  dressed.  A  brilliant  complexion 
set  oflf  to  advantage  her  delicate  features,  which,  though  se- 
rene, were  not  devoid  of  a   certain   expression   of  archness. 


58  END  r MI  ON. 

Her  white  hands  were  delicate,  her  light  eyes  inclined  to  mer- 
riment, and  her  nose  quite  a  gem,  though  a  little  turned  up. 

After  their  ruin,  her  profligate  father  told  her  that  her  face 
was  her  fortune,  and  that  she  must  provide  for  herself,  in 
which  she  would  find  no  difficulty.  But  Sylvia,  though  she 
had  never  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  any  training,  moral  or  re- 
ligious, had  no  bad  impulses  even  if  she  had  no  good  ones, 
was  of  a  rather  cold  character,  and  extremely  prudent.  She 
recoiled  from  the  life  of  riot  and  disorder  and  irregularity  in 
which  she  had  unwittingly  passed  her  days,  and  which  had 
terminated  so  tragically,  and  she  resolved  to  make  an  effort  to 
secure  for  herself  a  different  career.  She  had  heard  that  Mrs. 
Ferrars  was  in  want  of  an  attendant,  and  she  determined  to 
apply  for  the  post.  As  one  of  the  chief  customers  of  her 
mother,  Sylvia  had  been  in  the  frequent  habit  of  waiting  on 
that  lady,  with  whom  she  had  become  a  favorite.  She  was  so 
pretty,  and  the  only  person  who  could  fit  Mrs.  Ferrars.  .Her 
appeal,  therefore,  was  not  in  vain ;  it  was  more  than  successful. 
Mrs.  Ferrars  was  attracted  by  Sylvia.  Mrs.  Ferrars  was  mag- 
nificent, generous,  and  she  liked  to  be  a  patroness,  and  to  be 
surrounded  by  favorites.  She  determined  that  Sylvia  should 
not  sink  into  a  menial  position;  she  adopted  her  as  a  humble 
friend,  and  one  who  every  day  became  more  regarded  by  her. 
Sylvia  arranged  her  invitations  to  her  receptions,  a  task  which 
required  finish  and  precision;  sometimes  wrote  her  notes.  She 
spoke  and  wrote  French  too,  and  that  was  useful;  was  a 
musician,  and  had  a  pretty  voice.  Above  all,  she  was  a  first- 
rate  counsellor  in  costume;  and  so,  looking  also  after  Mrs. 
Ferrars's  dogs  and  birds,  she  became  almost  one  of  the  family; 
dined  with  them  often  when  they  were  alone,  and  was  fre- 
quently Mrs.  Ferrars's  companion  in  her  carriage. 

Sylvia,  though  not  by  nature  impulsive,  really  adored  her 
patroness.  She  governed  her  manners  and  she  modelled  her 
dress  on  that  great  original,  and  next  to  Mrs.  Ferrars,  Sylvia 
in  time  became  nearly  the  finest  lady  in  London.  There  was, 
indeed,  much  in  Mrs.  Ferrars  to  captivate  a  person  like  Sylvia. 
Mrs.  Ferrars  was  beautiful,  fashionable,  gorgeous,  wonderfully 
expensive,  and,  where  her  taste  was  pleased,  profusely  generous. 
Her  winning  manner  was  not  less  irresistible  because  it  was 
sometimes  uncertain,  and  she  had  the  art  of  being  intimate 
without  being  familiar. 

When  the  crash  came,  Sylvia  was  really  broken-hearted,  or 
believed  she  was,  and  implored  that  she  might  attend  the  de- 


END  r MI  ON.  59 

posed  sovereigns  into  exile;  but  that  was  impossible,  however 
anxious  they  might  be  as  to  the  future  of  their  favorite.  Her 
destiny  was  sooner  decided  than  they  could  have  anticipated. 
There  was  a  member  of  the  household,  or  rather  family,  in 
Hill  Street  who  bore  almost  the  same  relation  to  Mr.  Ferrars 
as  Sylvia  to  his  wife.  This  was  Mr.  Rodney,  a  remarkably 
good-looking  person,  by  nature  really  a  little  resembling  his 
principal,  and  completing  the  resemblance  by  consummate  art. 
The  courtiers  of  Alexander  of  Macedon  could  not  study  their 
chief  with  more  devotion,  or  more  sedulously  imitate  his  mein 
and  carriage,  than  did  Mr.  Rodney  that  distinguished  individ- 
ual of  whom  he  was  the  humble  jfriend,  and  who  he  was 
convinced  was  destined  to  be  prime-minister  of  England.  Mr. 
Rodney  was  the  son  of  the  office-keeper  of  old  Mr.  Ferrars, 
and  it  was  the  ambition  of  the  father  that  his  son,  for  whom  he 
had  secured  a  sound  education,  should  become  a  member  of 
the  civil  service.  It  had  become  an  apothegm  in  the  Ferrars 
family  that  something  must  be  done  for  Rodney,  and  whenever 
the  apparent  occasion  failed,  which  was  not  unfrequent,  old 
Mr.  Ferrars  used  always  to  add,  "  Never  mind ;  so  long  as  I 
live,  Rodney  shall  never  want  a  home."  The  object  of  all 
this  kindness,  however,  was  little  distressed  by  their  failures  in 
his  preferment.  He  had  implicit  faith  in  the  career  of  his 
friend  and  master,  and  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  it 
might  not  be  impossible  that  he  himself  might  find  a  haven  in 
a  commissionership.  Recently  Mr.  Ferrars  had  been  able  to 
confer  on  him  a  small  post  with  duties  not  too  engrossing,  and 
which  did  not  prevent  his  regular  presence-  in  Hill  Street, 
where  he  made  himself  generally  useful. 

If  there  was  anything  confidential  to  be  accomplished  in  their 
domestic  life,  everything  might  be  trusted  to  his  discretion  and 
entire  devotion.  He  supervised  the  establishment  without 
injudiciously  interfering  with  the  house-steward,  copied  secret 
papers  for  Mr.  Ferrars,  and  when  that  gentleman  was  out  of 
office,  acted  as  his  private  secretary.  Mr.  Rodney  was  the 
most  official  personage  in  the  ministerial  circle.  He  considered 
human  nature  only  with  reference  to  office.  No  one  was  so 
intimately  acquainted  with  all  the  details  of  the  lesser  patron- 
age as  himself,  and  his  hours  of  study  were  passed  in  the  pages 
of  the  "  Peerage,"  and  in  penetrating  the  mysteries  of  the 
"  Royal  Calendar." 

The  events  of  1832,  therefore,  to  this  gentleman  were 
scarcely  a  less  severe  blow  than  to  the  Fei'rars  family  itself. 


6o  ENDTMION, 

Indeed,  like  his  chief,  he  looked  upon  himself  as  the  victim  of  a 
revolution.  Mr.  Rodney  had  always  been  an  admirer  of  Syl- 
via, but  no  more.  He  had  accompanied  her  to  the  theatre,  and 
had  attended  her  to  the  park,  but  this  was  quite  understood  on 
both  sides  only  to  be  gallantry ;  both,  perhaps,  in  their  pros- 
perity, with  respect  to  the  serious  step  of  life,  had  indulged  in 
higher  dreams.  But  the  sympathy  of  sorrow  is  stronger  than 
the  sympathy  of  prosperity.  In  the  darkness  of  their  lives,  each 
required  comfort;  he  murmured  some  accents  of  tender  solace, 
and  Sylvia  agreed  to  become  Mrs.  Rodney. 

When  they  considered  their  position,  the  prospect  was  not 
free  from  anxiety.  To  marry  and  then  separate  is,  where 
there  is  affection,  trying.  His  income  would  secure  them  little 
more  than  a  roof,  but  how  to  live  under  that  roof  was  a 
mystery.  For  her  to  become  a  governess,  and  for  him  to 
become  a  secretary,  and  to  meet  only  on  an  occasional  Sunday, 
was  a  sorry  lot.  And  yet  both  possessed  accomplishments  or 
acquirements  which  ought  in  some  degree  to  be  productive. 
Rodney  had  a  friend,  and  he  determined  to  consult  him. 

That  friend  was  no  common  person;  he  was  Mr.  Vigo,  by 
birth  a  Yorkshireman,  and  gifted  with  all  the  attributes,  phys- 
ical and  intellectual,  of  that  celebrated  race.  At  present  he 
was  the  most  ftishionable  tailor  in  London,  and  one  whom 
many  persons  consulted.  Besides  being  consummate  in  his 
art,  Mr.  Vigo  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  man  of  singularly 
good  judgment.  He  was  one  who  obtained  influence  over  all 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact,  and  as  his  business  placed  him 
in  contact  with  various  classes,  but  especially  with  the  class 
socially  most  distinguished,  his  influence  was  great.  The 
golden  youth  who  repaired  to  his  counters  came  there  not 
merely  to  obtain  raiment  of  the  best  material  and  the  most 
perfect  cut,  but  to  see  and  talk  with  Mr.  Vigo,  and  to  ask  his 
opinion  on  various  points.  There  was  a  spacious  room  where, 
if  they  liked,  they  might  smoke  a  cigar,  and  "  Vigo's  cigars" 
were  something  which  no  one  could  rival.  If  they  liked  to 
take  a  glass  of  hock  with  their  tobacco,  there  was  a  bottle 
ready  from  the  cellars  of  Johannisberg.  Mr.  Vigo's  stable 
was  almost  as  famous  as  its  master;  he  drove  the  finest  horses 
in  London,  and  rode  the  best  hunters  in  the  Vale  of  Aylesbury. 
With  all  this,  his  manners  were  exactly  what  they  should  be. 
He  was  neither  pretentious  nor  servile,  but  simple,  and  with 
becoming  respect  for  others  and  for  himself.  He  never  took  a 
liberty  with  any  one,  and  such  treatment,  as  is  generally  the 
case,  was  reciprocal, 


ENDTMION,  61 

Mr.  Vigo  was  much  attached  to  Mr.  Rodney,  and  was 
proud  of  his  intimate  acquaintance  with  him.  He  wanted  a 
friend  not  of  his  own  order,  for  that  would  not  increase  or  im- 
prove his  ideas,  but  one  conversant  with  the  habits  and  feelings 
of  a  superior  class,  and  yet  he  did  not  want  a  fine  gentleman 
for  an  intimate,  who  would  have  been  either  an  insolent  patron 
or  a  designing  parasite.  Rodney  had  relations  with  the  aris- 
tocracy, with  the  political  world,  and  could  feel  the  pulse  of 
public  life.  His  appearance  was  engaging,  his  manners  gentle 
if  not  gentleman-like,  and  he  had  a  temper  never  disturbed. 
This  is  a  quality  highly  appreciated  by  men  of  energy  and 
fire,  who  may  happen  not  to  have  a  complete  self-control. 

When  Rodney  detailed  to  his  friend  the  catastrophe  that 
had  occurred  and  all  its  sad  consequences,  Mr.  Vigo  heard  him 
in  silence,  occasionally  nodding  his  head  in  sympathy  or  aj3- 
probation,  or  scrutinizing  a  statement  with  his  keen  hazel  eye. 
When  his  visitor  had  finished,  he  said — 

"  When  there  has  been  a  crash  there  is  nothing  like  a 
change  of  scene.  I  propose  that  you  and  Mrs.  Rodney 
should  come  and  stay  with  me  a  week  at  my  house  at  Barnes, 
and  there  a  good  many  things  may  occur  to  us." 

And  so,  towards  the  end  of  the  week,  when  the  Rodneys 
had  exhausted  their  whole  programme  of  projects,  against 
every  one  of  which  there  seemed  some  invincible  objection, 
their  host  said,  "  You  know  I  rather  speculate  in  houses.  I 
bought  one  last  year  in  Warwick  Street.  It  is  a  large 
roomy  house  in  a  quiet  situation,  though  in  a  bustling  quarter, 
just  where  members  of  Parliament  would  like  to  lodge.  I 
have  put  it  in  thorough  repair.  What  I  propose  is  that  you 
should  live  there,  let  the  first  and  second  floors — they  are 
equally  good — and  live  on  the  ground  floor  yourselves,  which 
is  amply  convenient.  We  will  not  talk  about  rent  till  the 
year  is  over  and  we  see  how  it  answers.  The  house  is  unfur- 
nished, but  that  is  nothing.  I  will  introduce  you  to  a  friend  of 
mine  who  will  furnish  it  for  you  solidly  and  handsomely,  you 
paying  a  percentage  on  the  amount  expended.  He  will  want 
a  guarantee,  but  of  course  I  will  be  that.  It  is  an  experiment, 
but  try  it.  Try  it  for  a  year;  at  any  rate  you  will  be  a  house- 
holder, and  you  will  have  the  opportunity  of  thinking  of 
something  else." 

Hitherto  the  Rodneys  had  been  successful  in  their  enterprise, 
and  the  soundness  of  Mr.  Vigo's  advice  had  been  proved. 
Their  house  was  full,  and  of  the  best  tenants.     Their  first  floor 


62  ^  END  r MI  ON, 

was  taken  by  a  distinguished  M.P.,  a  county  member  of  repute 
whom  Mr.  Rodney  had  known  before  the  "  revoUition,"  and 
who  was  so  pleased  with  his  quarters,  and  the  comfort  and 
refinement  of  all  about  him,  that  to  insure  their  constant  enjoy- 
ment he  became  a  yearly  tenant.  Their  second  floor,  which 
was  nearly  as  good  as  their  first,  was  inhabited  by  a  young 
gentleman  of  fashion,  who  took  them  originally  only  by  the 
week,  and  who  was  always  going  to  give  them  up,  but  never  did. 
The  weekly  lodger  went  to  Paris,  and  he  went  to  German 
baths,  and  he  went  to  country  houses,  and  he  was  frequently  a 
long  time  away,  but  he  never  gave  up  his  lodgings.  When, 
therefore,  Mr.  Ferrars  called  in  Warwick  Street,  the  truth  is 
the  house  was  full,  and  there  was  no  vacant  room  for  him. 
But  this  the  Rodneys  would  not  admit.  Though  they  were 
worldly  people,  and  it  seemed  impossible  that  anything  more 
could  be  gained  from  the  ruined  house  of  Hurstley,  they  had 
like  many  other  people,  a  superstition,  and  their  superstition 
was  an  adoration  of  the  family  of  Ferrars.  The  sight  of  their 
former  master,  who,  had  it  not  been  for  the  revolution,  might 
have  been  prime-minister  of  England,  and  the  recollection  of 
their  former  mistress  and  all  her  splendor,  and  all  the  rich 
dresses  which  she  used  to  give  so  profusely  to  her  dependent, 
quite  overwhelmed  them.  Without  consultation  this  sympa- 
thising couple  leaped  to  the  same  conclusion.  They  assured 
Mr.  Ferrars  they  could  accommodate  him,  and  that  he  should 
find  everything  prepared  for  him  when  he  called  again,  and  they 
resigned  to  him,  without  acknowledging  it,  their  own  com- 
modious and  well-furnished  chamber,  which  Mrs.  Rodney  pre- 
pared for  him  with  the  utmost  solicitude,  arranging  his  writing 
table  and  materials  as  he  used  to  have  them  in  Hill  Street,  and 
showing  by  a  variety  of  modes  she  remembered  all  his  ways. 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

After  securing  his  room  in  Warwick  Street,  Mr.  Ferrars 
called  on  his  political  chiefs.  Though  engrossed  with  aflfairs, 
the  moment  his  card  was  exhibited  he  was  seen,  cordially  wel- 
comed, and  addressed  in  confidence.  Not  only  were  his 
claims  acknowledged  without  being  preferred,  but  an  evidently 
earnest  hope  was  expressed  that  they  might  be  fully  satisfied. 
No  one  had  suffered  more  for  the  party  and  no  one  had  worked 
harder  or  more  eflfectively  for  it.     But  at  present  nothing  could 


ENDTMION,  '  63 

be  done  and  nothing  more  could  be  said.  All  depended  on 
Peel.  Until  he  arrived  nothing  could  be  arranged.  Their 
duties  were  limited  to  provisionally  administering  the  affairs  of 
the  country  until  his  appearance. 

It  was  many  days,  even  weeks,  before  that  event  could  hap- 
pen. The  messenger  would  travel  to  Rome  night  and  day, 
but  it  was  calculated  that  nearly  three  weeks  must  elapse 
before  his  return.  Mr.  Ferrars  then  went  to  the  Carlton  Club, 
which  he  had  assisted  in  forming  three  or  four  years  before, 
and  had  established  in  a  house  of  moderate  dimensions  in 
Charles  Street,  St.  James.  It  was  called  then  the  Charles 
Street  gang,  and  none  but  the  thorough-going  cared  to  belong 
to  it.  Now  he  found  it  flourishing  in  a  magnificent  mansion 
on  Carlton  Terrace,  while  in  very  sight  of  its  windows,  on  a 
plot  of  ground  in  Pall  Mall,  a  palace  was  rising  to  receive  it. 
It  counted  already  fifteen  hundred  members,  who  had  been 
selected  by  an  omniscient  and  scrutinizing  committee,  solely 
with  reference  to  their  local  influence  throughout  the  country, 
and  the  books  were  overflowing  with  impatient  candidates  of 
rank  and  wealth  and  power. 

Three  years  ago  Ferrars  had  been  one  of  the  leading 
spirits  of  this  great  confederacy,  and  now  he  entered  the  su- 
perb chamber,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  did  not  recognize 
a  human  being.  Yet  it  was  full  to  overflowing,  and  excite- 
ment and  anxiety  and  bustle  were  impressed  on  every  count- 
enance. If  he  had  heard  some  of  the  whispers  and  remarks 
as  he  entered  and  moved  about,  his  self-complacency  would 
scarcely  have  been  gratified. 

"  Who  is  that?"  inquired  a  young  M.  P.  of  a  brother  sena- 
tor, not  much  more  experienced. 

"  Have  not  the  remotest  idea ;  never  saw  him  before.  Bar- 
ron is  speaking  to  him;  he  will  tell  us.  I  say,  Barron,  who  is 
your  friend  ?" 

"That  is  Ferrars!" 

"  Ferrars!  who  is  he?" 

"  One  of  our  best  men.  If  all  our  fellows  had  fought  like 
him  against  the  Reform  Bill,  that  infernal  measure  would 
never  have  been  carried." 

"Oh!  Ah!  I  remember  something  now,"  said  the  young 
M.  P.,  "  but  anything  that  happened  before  the  election  of '32 
I  look  upon  as  an  old  almanac." 

However,  notwithstanding  the  first  and  painful  impression 
of  strangers  and  strangeness,  when  a  little  time  had  elapsed^ 


64  ENDtMIOJSf, 

Ferrars  found  many  friends,  and  among  the  most  distinguished 
present.  Nothing  could  be  more  hearty  than  their  greeting, 
and  he  had  not  been  in  the  room  half  an  hour  before  he  had 
accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  that  very  day  vv^ith  Lord  Pom- 
eroy. 

It  was  a  large  and  rather  miscellaneous  party,  but  all  of  the 
right  kidney.  Some  men  w^ho  had  been  cabinet  ministers, 
and  some  who  expected  to  be ;  several  occupiers  in  old  days  of 
the  secondary  offices;  both  the  whips,  one  noisy  and  the  other 
mysterious;  several  lawyers  of  repute  who  must  be  brought 
into  Parliament,  and  some  young  men  who  had  distinguished 
themselves  in  the  reformed  House  and  whom  Ferrars  had 
never  seen  before.  "  It  is  like  old  days,"  said  the  husband  of 
Zenobia  to  Ferrars,  who  sat  next  to  him ;  "  I  hope  it  will  float, 
but  we  shall  know  nothing  till  Peel  comes." 

"  He  will  have  difficulty  with  his  cabinet,  so  far  as  the 
House  of  Commons  is  concerned,"  said  an  old  privy-coun- 
cillor. "  They  must  have  seats,  and  his  choice  is  very 
limited." 

"  He  will  dissolve,"  said  the  husband  of  Zenobia.  "  He 
must." 

"  Wheugh!"  said  the  privy-councillor,  and  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  The  old  story  will  not  do,"  said  the  husband  of  Zenobia. 
"  We  must  have  new  blood.  Peel  must  reconstruct  on  a 
broad  basis." 

"  Well,  they  say  there  is  no  lack  of  converts,"  said  the  old 
privy-councillor. 

All  this,  and  much  more  that  he  heard,  made  Ferrars  ponder, 
and  anxiously.  No  cabinet  without  Parliament.  It  was  but 
reasonable.  A  dissolution  was  therefore  in  his  interest.  And 
yet,  what  a  prospect!  A  considerable  expenditure,  and  yet 
with  a  considerable  expenditure  a  doubtful  result.  Then  re- 
construction on  a  broad  basis — what  did  that  mean  ?  Neither 
more  nor  less  than  rival  candidates  for  office.  There  was  no 
lack  of  converts.  He  dare  say  not.  A  great  deal  had  de- 
veloped since  his  exile  at  Hurstley — things  which  are  not 
learned  by  newspapers,  or  even  private  correspondence.  He 
spoke  to  Barron  after  dinner.  He  had  reason  to  believe  Bar- 
ron was  his  friend.  Barron  could  give  no  opinion  about 
dissolution;  all  depended  on  Peel.  But  they  were  acting,  and 
had  been  acting  for  some  time,  as  if  a  dissolution  were  on  the 
cards.     Ferrars  had  better  call  upon  him  to-morrow,  and  go 


ENDTMION.  65 

over  the  list,  and  see  what  could  be  done  for  him.      He  had 
every  claim. 

The  man  with  every  claim  called  on  Barron  on  the  morrow, 
and  saw  his  secret  list,  and  listened  to  all  his  secret  prospects 
and  secret  plans.  There  was  more  than  one  manufacturing 
town  where  there  was  an  opening;  decided  reaction,  and  a 
genuine  conservative  feeling.  Barron  had  no  doubt  that 
although  a  man  might  not  get  in  the  first  time  he  stood,  he 
would  ultimately.  Ultimately  was  not  a  word  which  suited 
Mr.  Ferrars.  There  were  several  old  boroughs  where  the 
freemen  still  outnumbered  the  ten-pounders,  and  where  the 
prosjDCcts  were  more  than  encouraging;  but  the  expense  was 
equal  to  the  goodness  of  the  chance;  and  although  Ferrars 
had  every  claim,  and  would  no  doubt  be  assisted,  still  one 
could  not  shut  one's  eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  personal  expendi- 
ture must  be  considerable.  The  agricultural  boroughs  must  be 
fought,  at  least  this  time,  by  local  men.  Something  might  be 
done  with  an  Irish  borough;  expense,  comparatively  speaking, 
inconsiderable,  but  the  politics  deeply  Orange. 

Gloom  settled  on  the  countenance  of  this  spoiled  child  of 
politics,  who  had  always  sat  for  a  close  borough,  and  who 
recoiled  from  a  contest  like  a  woman,  when  he  pictured  to 
himself  the  struggle  and  exertion,  and  personal  suffering  he 
would  have  to  encounter  and  endure,  and  then  with  no  cer- 
tainty of  success.  The  trained  statesman  who  had  anticipated 
the  mass  of  his  party  on  Catholic  emancipation,  to  become  an 
Orange  candidate!  It  was  worse  than  making  speeches  to 
ten-pounders,  and  canvassing  freemen! 

"  I  knew  things  were  difficult,"  said  Ferrars ;  "  but  I  was  in 
hopes  that  there  were  yet  some  seats  that  we  might  command." 

"  No  doubt  there  are,"  said  Mr.  Barron ;  "  but  they  are  few, 
and  they  are  occupied — at  least  at  present.  But,  after  all,  a 
thousand  things  may  turn  up,  and  you  may  consider  nothing 
definitively  arranged  till  Sir  Robert  arrives.  The  great  thing 
is  to  be  on  the  spot." 

Ferrars  wrote  to  his  wife  daily,  and  kept  her  minutely 
acquainted  with  the  course  of  affairs.  She  agreed  with  Barron 
that  the  great  thing  was  to  be  on  the  spot.  She  felt  sure  that 
something  would  turn  up.  She  was  convinced  that  Sir 
Robert  would  send  for  him,  offer  him  the  cabinet,  and  at  the 
same  time,  provide  him  with  a  seat.  Her  own  inclination  was 
still  in  favor  of  a  great  colonial  or  foreign  appointment.  She 
still  hankered  after  India;  but  if  the  cabinet  were  offered,  as 


66  BNDTMION. 

was  certain,  she  did  not  consider  that  William,  as  a  man  of 
honor,  could  refuse  to  accept  the  trust  and  share  the  peril. 

So  Ferrars  remained  in  London,  under  the  roof  of  the  Rod- 
neys. The  feverish  days  passed  in  the  excitement  of  political 
life,  in  all  its  manifold  forms,  grave  council  and  light  gossip, 
dinners  w^ith  only  one  subject  of  conversation,  and  that  never 
palling;  and  at  last,  even  evenings  spent  again  under  the  roof 
of  Zenobia,  who,  the  instant  her  winter  apartments  were  ready 
to  receive  the  world,  had  hurried  up  to  London  and  raised  her 
standard  in  St.  James's  Square.  "  It  was  like  old  days,"  as  her 
husband  had  said  to  Ferrars,  when  they  met  after  a  long 
separation. 

Was  it  like  old  days?  he  thought  to  himself  when  he 
was  alone.  Old  days,  when  the  present  had  no  care,  and  the 
future  was  all  hope;  when  he  was  proud,  and  justly  proud,  of 
the  public  position  he  had  achieved,  and  of  all  the  splendid  and 
felicitous  circumstances  of  life  that  had  clustered  around  him. 
He  thought  of  those  away,  and  with  whom  during  the  last 
three  years  he  had  so  continuously  and  intimately  lived.  And 
his  hired  home  that  once  had  been  associated  only  in  his  mind 
with  exile,  imprisonment,  misfortune,  almost  disgrace,  became 
hallowed  by  affections,  and  i^i  the  agony  of  the  suspense  which 
now  involved  him,  and  to  encounter  which  he  began  to  think 
his  diminished  nerve  unequal,  he  would  have  bargained  for  the 
rest  of  his  life  to  pass  undisturbed  in  that  sweet  solitude,  in  the 
delights  of  study  and  the  tranquillity  of  domestic  love. 

A  little  not  unamiable  weakness,  this,  but  it  passed  off  in  the 
morning  like  a  dream,  when  Mr.  Ferrars  heard  that  Sir  Robert 
had  arrived. 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

It  was  a  dark  December  night  when  Mr.  Ferrars  returned 
to  Hurstley.  His  wife,  accompanied  by  the  gardener  with  a 
lantern,  met  him  on  the  green.  She  embraced  him,  and 
whispered,  "  Is  it  very  bad,  love?  I  fear  you  have  softened  it 
to  me?" 

"  By  no  means  bad,  and  I  told  you  the  truth ;  not  all,  for  had 
I,  my  letter  would  have  been  too  late.  He  said  nothing  about 
the  cabinet,  but  offered  me  a  high  post  in  his  government,  pro- 
vided I  could  secure  my  seat.  That  was  impossible.  During 
the  month  I  was  in  town  I  had  realized  that.      I  thought  it 


ENDTMION,  67 

best,  therefore,  at  once  to  try  the  other  tack,  and  nothing  could 
be  more  satisfactory." 

"  Did  you  say  anything  about  India?  "  she  said,  in  a  very  low 
voice. 

"  I  did  not.  He  is  an  honorable  man,  but  he  is  cold,  and  my 
manner  is  not  distinguished  for  abandon.  I  thought  it  best  to 
speak  generally,  and  leave  it  to  him.  He  acknowledged  my 
claim,  and  my  fitness  for  such  posts,  and  said  if  his  government 
lasted  it  would  gratify  him  to  meet  my  wishes.  Barron  says 
the  government  will  last.  They  will  have  a  majority,  and  if 
Stanley  and  Graham  had  joined  them,  they  would  have  had 
not  an  inconsiderable  one.  But  in  that  case  I  should  probably 
not  have  had  the  cabinet,  if,  indeed,  he  meant  to  offer  it  to  me 
now." 

"  Of  course  he  did,"  said  his  wife.  "  Who  has  such  claims 
as  you  have?  Well,  now  we  must  hope  and  watch.  Look 
cheerful  to  the  children,  for  they  have  been  very  anxious." 

With  this  hint  the  meeting  was  not  unhappy,  and  the  even- 
ing passed  with  amusement  and  interest.  Endymion  embraced 
his  father  with  warmth,  and  Myra  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks. 
Mr.  Ferrars  had  a  great  deal  of  gossip  which  interested  his 
wife,  and  to  a  certain  degree  his  children.  The  latter  of 
course  remembered  Zenobia,  and  her  sayings  and  doings  were 
always  amusing.  There  were  anecdotes,  too,  of  illustrious 
persons,  which  always  interest,  especially  when  in  the  personal 
experience  of  those  with  whom  we  are  intimately  connected. 
What  the  duke,  or  Sir  Robert,  or  Lord  Lyndhurst  said  to 
papa,  seemed  doubly  wiser  or  brighter  than  if  it  had  been  said 
to  a  third  person.  Their  relations  with  the  world  of  power 
and  fashion  and  fame  seemed  not  to  be  extinct,  at  least  reviving 
from  their  torpid  condition.  Mr.  Ferrars  had  also  brought  a 
German  book  for  Myra;  and,  "  as  for  you,  Endymion,"  he  said, 
"  I  have  been  much  more  successful  for  you  than  for  your 
father,  though  I  hope  I  shall  not  have  myself  in  the  long  run 
to  complain.  Our  friends  are  faithful  to  us,  and  I  have  got 
you  put  down  on  the  private  list  for  a  clerkship  both  in  the 
Foreign  Ofhce  and  the  Treasury.  They  are  the  two  best 
things,  and  you  will  have  one  of  the  first  vacancies  that  will 
occur  in  either  department.  I  know  your  mother  wishes  you 
to  be  in  the  Foreign  Of^ce.  Let  it  be  so  if  it  come.  I  confess, 
myself,  remembering  your  grandfather's  career,  I  have  always 
a  weakness  for  the  Treasury,  but  so  long  as  I  see  you  well 
planted  in  Whitehall,  I  shall  be  content.    Let  me  see,  you  will 


68  ENDTMION. 

be  sixteen  in  March.  I  could  have  wished  you  to  wait  another 
year,  but  we  must  be  ready  when  the  opening  occurs." 

The  general  election  in  1834-35,  though  it  restored  the  bal- 
ance of  parties,  did  not  secure  Sir  Robert  Peel  a  majority,  and 
the  anxiety  of  the  family  at  Hurstley  was  proportionate  to  the 
occasion.  Barron  was  always  sanguine,  but  the  vote  on  the 
speakership  could  not  but  alarm  them.  Barron  said  it  did  not 
signify,  and  that  Sir  Robert  had  resolved  to  go  on,  and  had 
confidence  in  his  measures.  His  measures  were  excellent,  and 
Sir  Robert  never  displayed  more  resource,  more  energy,  and 
more  skill,  than  he  did  in  the  spring  of  1835.  ^^^  knowledge 
of  human  nature  was  not  Sir  Robert  Peel's  strong  point,  and 
it  argued  some  deficiency  in  that  respect,  to  suppose  that  the 
fitness  of  his  measures  could  disarm  a  vindictive  opposition. 
On  the  contrary  they  rather  whetted  their  desire  of  revenge, 
and  they  were  doubly  loath  that  he  should  increase  his  reputa- 
tion by  availing  himself  of  an  opportunity  which  they  deemed 
the  Tory  party  had  unfairly  acquired. 

After  the  vote  on  the  speakership,  Mr.  Ferrars  was  offered 
a  second-class  West  Indian  government.  His  wife  would  not 
listen  to  it.  If  it  were  Jamaica,  the  offer  might  be  considered, 
though  it  could  scarcely  be  accepted  without  great  sacrifice. 
The  children,  for  instance,  must  be  left  at  home.  Strange  ,to 
say,  Mr.  Ferrars  was  not  disinclined  to  accept  the  inferior 
post.  Endymion  he  looked  upon  as  virtually  provided  for, 
and  Myra,  he  thought,  might  accompany  them,  if  only  for  a 
year.  But  he  ultimately  yielded,  though  not  without  a  strug- 
gle, to  the  strong  feeling  of  his  wife. 

"  I  do  not  see  why  I  also  should  not  be  left  behind,"  said 
Myra  to  her  brother  in  one  of  their  confidential  walks.  "  I 
should  like  to  live  in  London  in  lodgings  with  you." 

The  approaching  appointment  of  her  brother  filled  her 
from  the  first  with  the  greatest  interest.  She  was  always 
talking  of  it  when  they  were  alone — fancying  his  future  life, 
and  planning  how  it  might  be  happier  and  more  easy.  "  My 
only  joy  in  life  is  seeing  you,"  she  sometimes  said,  "  and  yet 
this  separation  does  not  make  me  unhappy.  It  seems  a  chance 
from  heaven  for  you.  I  pray  every  night  it  may  be  the  For- 
eign Office." 

The  ministry  were  still  sanguine  as  to  their  prospects  in  the 
month  of  March,  and  they  deemed  that  public  opinion  was 
rallying  round  vSir  Robert.  Perhaps  Lord  John  Russell,  who 
was  tiie  leader  of  the  Opposition,  felt  this,  in  some  degree,  him- 


END  r MI  ON.  69 

self,  and  he  determined  to  bring  affairs  to  a  crisis  by  notice  of  a 
motion  respecting  the  appropriation  of  the  revenues  of  the 
Irish  Church.  Then  Barron  wrote  to  Mr.  Ferrars  that  affairs 
did  not  look  so  well,  and  advised  him  to  come  up  to  town,  and 
take  anything  that  offered.  "  It  is  something,"  he  remarked, 
"  to  have  something  to  give  up.  We  shall  not,  I  suppose, 
always  be  out  of  office,  and  they  get  preferred  more  easily 
whose  promotion  contributes  to  patronage,  even  while  they 
claim  its  exercise." 

The  ministry  were  in  a  minority  on  the  Irish  Church  on 
April  2,  the  day  on  which  Mr.  Ferrars  arrived  in  town.  They 
did  not  resign,  but  the  attack  was  to  be  repeated  in  another 
form  on  the  6th.  During  the  terrible  interval  Mr.  Ferrars 
made  distracted  visits  to  Downing  Street,  saw  secretaries  of 
state,  who  sympathized  with  him  notwithstanding  their  own 
chagrin,  and  was  closeted  daily  and  hourly  with  under-secreta- 
ries,  parliamentary  and  permanent,  who  really  alike  wished  to 
serve  him.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be  had.  He  was  almost 
meditating  taking  Sierra  Leone,  or  the  Gold  Coast,  when  the 
resignation  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  was  announced.  At  the  last 
moment,  there  being,  of  course,  no  vacancy  in  the  Foreign 
Office  or  the  Treasury,  he  obtained  from  Barron  an  appoint- 
ment for  Endymion,  and  so,  after  having  left  Hurstley  five 
months  before  to  become  Governor-general  of  India,  this  man, 
"  who  had  claims,"  returned  to  his  mortified  home  with  a  clerk- 
ship for  his  son  in  a  second-rate  government  office. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Disappointment  and  distress,  it  might  be  said  despair, 
seemed  fast  settling  again  over  the  devoted  roof  of  Hurstley, 
after  a  three  years'  truce  of  tranquillity.  Even  the  crushing 
termination  of  her  worldly  hopes  was  forgotten  for  the  mo- 
ment by  Mrs.  Ferrars  in  her  anguish  at  the  prospect  of  sepa- 
ration from  Endymion.  Such  a  catastrophe  she  had  never  for 
a  moment  contemplated.  True  it  was  she  had  been  delighted 
with  the  scheme  of  his  entering  the  Foreign  Office;  but  that 
was  on  the  assumption  that  she  was  to  enter  office  herself,  and 
that,  whatever  might  be  the  scene  of  the  daily  labors  of  her 
darling  child,  her  roof  should  be  his  home,  and  her 
indulgent  care  always  at  his  command.  But  that  she 
was     absolutely    to    part     with     Endymion,     and     that,    at 


70  ENDTMIOlSr. 

his  tender  age,  he  was  to  be  launched  alone  into  the  wide 
world,  was  an  idea  that  she  could  not  entertain,  or  even  com- 
prehend. Who  was  to  clothe  him,  and  feed  him,  and  tend 
him,  and  save  him  from  being  run  over,  and  guide  and  guard 
him  in  all  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  this  mundane  exist- 
ence ?  It  was  madness,  it  was  impossible.  But  Mr.  Ferrars, 
though  gentle,  was  firm.  No  doubt  it  was  to  be  wished  that 
the  event  could  have  been  postponed  for  a  year;  but  its  oc- 
currence, unless  all  prospect  of  establishment  in  life  were  sur- 
rendered, was  inevitable,  and  a  slight  delay  would  hardly 
render  the  conditions  under  which  it  happened  less  trying. 
Though  Endymion  was  only  sixteen,  he  was^tall  and  manly 
beyond  his  age,  and  during  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  his  nat- 
urally sweet  temper  and  genial  disposition  had  been  schooled 
in  self-discipline  and  self-sacrifice.  He  was  not  to  be  wholly 
left  to  strangers.  Mr.  Ferrars  had  spoken  to  Rodney  about 
receiving  him,  at  least  for  the  present,  and  steps  would  be 
taken  that  those  who  presided  over  his  office  would  be  influ- 
enced in  his  favor.  The  appointment  was  certainly  not  equal 
to  what  had  been  originally  anticipated ;  but  still  the  depart- 
ment, though  not  distinguished,  was  highly  respectable,  and 
there  was  no  reason  on  earth,  if  the  opportunity  offered,  that 
Endymion  should  not  be  removed  from  his  present  post  to 
one  in  the  higher  departments  of  the  state.  But  if  this  open- 
ing were  rejected,  what  was  to  be  the  future  of  their  son.f* 
They  could  not  afford  to  send  him  to  the  university,  nor  did 
Mr.  Ferrars  wish  him  to  take  refuge  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Church.  As  for  the  army,  they  had  now  no  interest  to  ac- 
quire commissions,  and  if  they  could  succeed  so  far,  they 
could  not  make  him  an  allowance  which  would  permit  him  to 
maintain  himself  as  became  his  rank.  The  civil  service  re- 
mained, in  which  his  grandfather  had  been  eminent,  and  in 
which  his  own  parent,  at  any  rate,  though  the  victim  of  a  rev- 
olution, had  not  disgraced  himself.  It  seemed,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, the  natural  avenue  for  their  child.  At  least,  he 
thought  it  ought  to  be  tried.  He  wished  nothing  to  be  set- 
tled without  the  full  concurrence  of  Endymion  himself.  The 
matter  should  be  put  fairly  and  clearly  before  him,  "  and  for 
this  purpose,"  concluded  Mr.  Ferrars,  "  I  have  just  sent  for 
him  to  my  room;"  and  he  retired. 

The  interview  between  the  father  and  son  was  long.  When 
Endymion  left  the  room  his  countenance  was  pale,  but  its 
expression  was  firm  and  determined.     He  went  forth  into  the 


END  r MI  ON.  71 

garden,  and  there  he  saw  Myra.  "  How  long  you  have  been! " 
she  said.     "  I  have  been  watching  for  you.     What  is  settled?" 

He  took  her  arm,  and*  in  silence  led  her  away  into  one  of 
the  glades.  Then  he  said :  "  I  have  settled  to  go,  and  I  am 
resolved,  so  long  as  I  live,  that  I  will  never  cost  dear  papa 
another  shilling.  Things  here  are  very  bad,  quite  as  bad  as 
you  have  sometimes  fancied.  But  do  not  say  anything  to  poor 
mamma  about  them." 

Mr.  Ferrars  resolved  that  Endymion  should  go  to  London 
immediately,  and  the  preparations  for  his  departure  were 
urgent.  Myra  did  everything.  If  she  had  been  the  head  of 
the  family  she  could  not  have  been  more  thoughtful  or  appar- 
ently more  experienced.  If  she  had  a  doubt,  she  stepped  over 
to  Mrs.  Penruddock  and  consulted  her.  As  for  Mrs.  Ferrars, 
she  had  become  very  unwell,  and  unable  to  attend  to  anything. 
Her  occasional  interference,  fitful  and  feverish,  and  without 
adequate  regard  to  circumstances,  only  embarrassed  them.  But 
generally  speaking,  she  kept  to  her  own  room,  and  was  always 
weeping. 

The  last  day  came.  No  one  pretended  not  to  be  serious  and 
grave.  Mrs.  Ferrars  did  not  appear,  but  saw  Endymion 
alone.  She  did  not  speak,  but  locked  him  in  her  arms  for 
many  minutes,  and  then  kissing  him  on  the  forehead,  and,  by 
a  gentle  motion,  intimating  that  he  should  retire,  she  fell  back 
on  her  sofa  with  closed  eyes.  He  was  alone  for  a  short  time 
with  his  father  after  dinner.  Mr.  Ferrars  said  to  him:  "I  have 
treated  you  in  this  matter  as  a  man,  and  I  have  entire  confi- 
dence in  you.  Your  business  in  life  is  to  build  up  again  a 
family  which  was  once  honored." 

Myra  was  still  copying  inventories  -when  he  returned  to  the 
drawing-room.  "  These  are  for  myself,"  she  said,  "  so  I  shall 
always  know  what  you  ought  to  have.  Though  you  go  so 
early,  I  shall  make  your  breakfast  to-morrow,"  and,  leaning 
back  on  the  sofa,  she  took  his  hand.  "  Things  are  dark,  and 
I  fancy  they  will  be  darker;  but  brightness  will  come, 
somehow  or  other,  to  you,  darling,  for  you  are  born  for 
brightness.  You  will  find  friends  in  life,  and  they  will  be 
women." 

It  was  nearly  three  years  since  Endymion  had  travelled  down 
to  Hurstley  by  the  same  coach  that  was  now  carrying  him  to 
London.  Though  apparently  so  uneventful,  the  period  had 
not  been  unimportant  in  the  formation,  doubtless  yet  partial,  of 
his  character.      And  all  its  influences  had  been  beneficial  to 


72  ENDTMION, 

him.  The  crust  of  pride  and  selfishness  with  which  large 
prosperity  and  illimitable  indulgence  had  encased  a  kind,  and 
far  from  presumptuous,  disposition  had  been  removed ;  the  do- 
mestic sentiments  in  their  sweetness  and  pmity  had  been 
developed;  he  had  acquired  some  skill  in  scholarship  and  no 
inconsiderable  fund  of  sound  information;  and  the  routine  of 
religious  thought  had  been  superseded  in  his  instance  by  an 
amount  of  knowledge  and  feeling  on  matters  theological,  un- 
usual at  his  time  of  life.  Though  apparently  not  gifted  with 
any  dangerous  vivacity  or  fatal  facility  of  acquisition,  his  mind 
seemed  clear  and  painstaking,  and  distinguished  by  common- 
sense.     He  was  brave  and  accurate. 

Mr.  Rodney  was  in  waiting  for  him  at  the  inn.  He  seemed 
a  most  distinguished  gentleman.  A  hackney-coach  carried 
them  to  Warwick  Street,  where  he  was  welcomed  by  Mrs. 
Rodney,  who  was  .exquisitely  dressed.  There  was  also  her 
sister,  a  girl  not  older  than  Endymion,  the  very  image  of  Mrs. 
Rodney,  except  she  was  a  brunette — a  brilliant  brunette.  This 
sister  bore  the  romantic  name  of  Imogene,  for  which  she  was 
indebted  to  her  father  performing  the  part  of  the  husband  of  the 
heroine  in  Maturin's  tragedy  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Aldobrand^ 
and  which,  under  the  inspiration  of  Kean,  had  set  the  town  in 
a  blaze  about  the  time  of  her  birth.  Tea  was  awaiting  him, 
and  there  was  a  mixture  in  their  several  manners  of  not  un- 
graceful hospitality  and  the  remembrance  of  past  dependence, 
w^hich  was  genuine  and  not  uninteresting,  though  Endymion 
was  yet  too  inexperienced  to  observe  all  this. 

Mrs.  Rodney  talked  very  much  of  Endymion's  mother;  her 
wondrous  beauty,  her  more  wondrous  dresses;  the  splendor  of 
her  fetes  and  her  equipages.  As  she  dilated  on  the  past,  she 
seemed  to  share  its  lustre  and  its  triumphs.  "  The  first  of  the 
land  were  always  in  attendance  on  her,"  and  for  Mrs.  Rodney's 
part,  she  never  saw  a  real  horsewoman  since  her  dear  lady. 
Her  sister  did  not  speak,  but  listened  with  rapt  attention  to  the 
gorgeous  details,  occasionally  stealing  a  glance  at  Endymion 
— a  glance  of  deep  interest,  of  admiration  mingled,  as  it  were, 
both  with  reverence  and  pity. 

Mr.  Rodney  took  up  the  conversation  if  his  wife  paused. 
He  spoke  of  all  the  leading  statesmen  who  had  been  the  habit- 
ual companions  of  Mr.  Ferrars,  and  threw  out  several  anec- 
dotes respecting  them  from  personal  experience.  "  I  knew 
them  all,"  continued  Mr.  Rodney,  "I  might  say  intimately;" 
and  then  he  told  his  great  anecdote,  how  he  had  been  so  fortunate 


ENDTMIOJSr,  73 

as  perhaps  even  to  save  the  duke's  life  during  the  Reform  Bill 
riots.  "  His  grace  has  never  forgotten  it,  and  only  the  day 
before  yesterday  I  met  him  in  St.  James's  Street  walking  with 
Mr.  Arbuthnot,  and  he  touched  his  hat  to  me." 

All  this  gossip  and  good-nature,  and  the  kind  and  lively 
scene,  saved  Endymion  from  the  inevitable  pang,  or  at  least 
greatly  softened  it,  which  accompanies  our  first  separation 
from  home.  In  due  season,  Mrs.  Rodney  observed  that  she 
doubted  not  Mr.  Endymion,  for  so  they  ever  called  him,  must 
be  wearied  with  his  journey,  and  would  like  to  retire  to  his 
room;  and  her  husband,  immediately  lighting  a  candle,  pre- 
pared to  introduce  their  new  lodger  to  his  quarters. 

It  was  a  tall  house,  which  had  recently  been  renovated,  with 
a  story  added  to  it,  and  on  this  story  was  Endymion's  chamber; 
not  absolutely  a  garret,  but  a  modern  substitute  for  that  sort  of 
apartment.  "  It  is  rather  high,"  said  Mr.  Rodney,  half  apolo- 
gizing for  the  ascent,  "  but  Mr.  Ferrars  himself  chose  the  room. 
We  took  the  liberty  of  lighting  a  fire  to-night." 

And  the  cheerful  blaze  was  welcome.  It  lit  up  a  room  clean 
and  not  uncomfortable.  Feminine  solicitude  had  fashioned  a 
toilet-table  for  him,  and  there  was  a  bunch  of  geraniums  in  a 
blue  vase  on  its  sparkling  dimity  garniture.  "  I  suppose  you 
have  in  your  bag  all  that  you  want  at  present?"  said  Mr. 
Rodney.  "  To-morrow  we  will  unpack  your  trunks  and 
arrange  your  things  in  their  drawers;  and  after  breakfast,  if 
you  please,  I  will  show  you  your  way  to  Somerset  House." 

Somerset  House!  thought  Endymion  as  he  stood  before  the 
fire  alone.  Is  it  so  near  as  that?  To-morrow,  and  I  am  to  be 
at  Somerset  House !  And  then  he  thought  of  what  they  were 
doing  at  Hurstley — of  that  terrible  parting  with  his  mother, 
which  made  him  choke — and  of  his  father's  last  words.  And 
then  he  thought  of  Myra,  and  the  tears  stole  down  his  cheek. 
And  then  he  knelt  down  by  his  beside  and  prayed. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Mr.  Rodney  would  have  accompanied  Endymion  to  Som- 
erset House  under  any  circumstances,  but  it  so  happened  that 
he  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  a  visit  to  that  celebrated  build- 
ing. He  had  occasion  to  see  a  gentleman  who  was  stationed 
there.  "  Not,"  as  he  added  to  Endymion,  "  that  I  know  many 
here,  but  at  the  Treasury  and  in  Downing  Street  I  have 
several  acquaintances." 


74  ENDTMION, 

They  separated  at  the  door  in  the  great  quadrangle  which 
led  to  the  department  to  which  EndymioR  was  attached,  and  he 
contrived  in  due  time  to  deliver  to  a  messenger  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  his  future  chief.  He  was  kept  some  time  in  a  gloomy 
and  almost  unfurnished  waiting-room,  and  his  thoughts  in  a 
desponding  mood  were  gathering  round  the  dear  ones  who 
were  distant,  when  he  was  summoned,  and,  following  the 
messenger  down  a  passage,  was  ushered  into  a  lively  apart- 
ment on  which  the  sun  was  shining,  and  which,  with  its  well- 
lined  book-shelves,  and  tables  covered  with  papers,  and  bright 
noisy  clock,  and  general  air  of  habitation  and  business,  contrasted 
favorably  with  the  room  he  had  just  quitted.  A  good-natured- 
looking  man  held  out  his  hand  and  welcomed  him  cordially, 
and  said  at  once,  "  I  served,  Mr.  Ferrars,  under  your  grand- 
father at  the  Treasury,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  you  here.'*  Then 
he  spoke  of  the  duties  which  Endjnnion  would  have  at  present 
to  discharge.  His  labors  at  first  would  be  somewhat  mechan- 
ical; they  would  require  only  correctness  and  diligence;  but 
the  office  was  a  large  one,  and  promotion  not  only  sure,  but 
sometimes  rapid,  and  as  he  was  so  young,  he  might  with 
attention  count  on  attaining,  while  yet  In  the  prime  of  life,  a 
future  of  very  responsible  duties  and  of  no  inconsiderable  emol- 
ument. And  while  he  was  speaking  -he  rang  the  bell  and 
commanded  the  attendance  of  a  clerk,  under  whose  care 
Endymlon  was  specially  placed.  This  was  a>young  man  of 
pleasant  address,  who  invited  Endymlon  with  kindness  to  ac- 
company him,  and  leading  him  through  several  chambers,  some 
capacious,  and  all  full  of  clerks  seated  on  high  stools  and 
writing  at  desks,  finally  ushered  him  Into  a  smaller  chamber 
where  there  were  not  above  six  or  eight  at  work,  and  where 
there  was  a  vacant  seat.  "  This  Is  your  place,"  he  said,  "  and 
now  I  will  Introduce  you  to  your  future  comrades.  This  is  Mr. 
jawett,  the  greatest  Radical  of  the  age,  and  who,  when  he  is 
President  of  the  Republic,  will,  I  hope,  do  a  job  for  his  friends 
here.  This  Is  Mr.  St.  Barbe,  who,  when  the  public  taste  has 
improved,  will  be  the  most  popular  author  of  the  day.  In  the 
mean  time  he  will  give  you  a  copy  of  his  novel,  which  has  not 
sold  as  it  ought  to  have  done,  and  In  which  we  say  fee  has 
quizzed  all  his  friends.  This  Is  Mr.  Seymour  Hicks,  who,  as 
you  must  perceive.  Is  a  man  of  fashion."  And  so  he  went  on 
with  what  was  evidently  accustomed  raillery.  All  laughed, 
and  all  said  something  courteous  to  Endymlon,  and  then  after 
a  few   minutes  they  resumed  their  tasks,  Endymion's   work 


END  r MI  ON,  ^^ 

being  to  copy  long  lists  of  figures,  and  routine  documents  of 
public  accounts. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  St.  Barbe  was  busy  in  drawing  up  a 
public  document  of  a  different  but  important  character,  and 
which  was  conceived  something  in  this  fashion: 

"  We,  the  undersigned,  highly  approving  of  the  personal 
appearance  and  manners  of  our  nfcw  colleague,  are  unani- 
mously of  opinion  that  he  should  be  invited  to  join  our  sym- 
posium to-day  at  the  immortal  Joe's." 

This  was  quietly  passed  round  and  signed  by  all  present, 
and  then  given  to  Mr.  Trenchard,  who,  all  unconsciously  to 
the  copying  Endymion,  wrote  upon  it,  like  a  minister  of  state, 
"  Approved,"  with  his  initial. 

Joe's,  more  technically  known  as  the  "  Blue  Posts,"  was  a 
celebrated  chop-house  m  Naseby  Street,  a  large,  low-ceilinged, 
wainscoted  room,  with  the  floor  strewn  with  sawdust,  and  a 
hissing  kitchen  in  the  centre,  and  fitted  up  with  what  were 
called  boxes,  these  being  of  various  sizes,  and  suitable  to  the 
number  of  guests  requiring  them.  About  this  time  the  fash- 
ionable coffee-houses,  George's  and  the  Piazza,  and  even  the 
coffee-rooms  of  Stevens's  or  Long's,  had  begun  to  feel  the  in- 
jurious competitions  of  the  new  clubs  that  of  late  years  had 
been  established;  but  these,  after  all,  were  limited,  and,  com- 
paratively speaking,  exclusive  societies.  Their  influence  had 
not  touched  the  chop-houses,  and  it  required  another  quarter 
of  a  century  before  their  cheerful  and  hospitable  roofs  and  the 
old  taverns  of  London,  so  full,  it  ever  seemed,  of  merriment 
and  wisdom,  yielded  to  the  gradually  increasing,  but  irresis- 
tible influence  of  those  innumerable  associations  which,  under 
classic  names,  or  affecting  to  be  the  junior  branches  of  cele- 
brated confederacies,  have  since  secured  to  the  million,  at  cost 
price,  all  the  delicacies  of  the  season,  and  substituted  for  the 
zealous  energy  of  immortal  Joes  the  inexorable  but  frigid  disci- 
pline of  managing  committees. 

"  You  are  our  guest  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Trenchard  to  Endy- 
mion. "  Do  not  be  embarrassed.  It  is  a  custom  with  us,  but 
not  a  ruinous  one.  We  dine  off  the  joint,  but  the  meat  is  first- 
rate,  and  you  may  have  as  much  as  you  like,  and  our  tipple  is 
half-and-half.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  it.  Let  me  drink  to 
your  health." 

They  ate  most  heartily;  but  when  their  well-earned  meal 
was  despatched,  their  conversation,  assisted  by  a  moderate 
portion  of  some  celebrated  toddy,  became  animated,  various 


76  END  r MI  ON. 

and  Interesting.  Endymlon  was  highly  amused,  but  being  a 
stranger,  and  the  youngest  present,  his  silence  was  not  unbe- 
coming, and  his  manner  Indicated  that  it  was  not  occasioned  by 
want  of  sympathy.  The  talk  was  very  political.  They  were 
all  what  are  called  Liberals,  having  all  of  them  received  their 
appointment  since  the  catastrophe  of  1830;  but  the  shades  In 
the  color  of  their  opinions*  were  various  and  strong.  Jawett 
was  uncompromising;  ruthlessly  logical,  his  principles  being 
clear,  he  was  for  what  he  called  "  carrying  them  out  "  to  their 
just  conclusions.  Trenchard,  on  the  contrary,  thought  every- 
thing ought  to  be  compromise,  and  that  a  public  man  ceased 
to  be  practical  the  moment  he  was  logical.  St.  Barbe  believed 
that  literature  and  the  arts,  and  Intellect  generally,  had  as  little 
to  hope  for  from  one  party  as  from  the  other;  while  Seymour 
Hicks  was  of  opinion  that  the  Tories  never  would  rally,  owing 
to  their  deficiency  in  social  Influences.  Seymour  Hicks  some- 
times got  an  Invitation  to  a  ministerial  soiree. 

The  vote  of  the  House  of  Commons  In  favor  of  an  appropri- 
ation of  the  surplus  revenues  of  the  Irish  Church  to  the  pur- 
poses of  secular  education — a  vote  which  had  just  changed  the 
government  and  expelled  the  Tories — was  much  discussed. 
Jawett  denounced  It  as  a  miserable  subterfuge,  but  with  a  mild- 
ness of  manner  and  a  mincing  expression  which  amusingly 
contrasted  with  the  violence  of  his  principles  and  the  strength 
of  his  language. 

"  The  whole  of  the  revenues  of  the  Protestant  Church 
should  be  at  once  appropriated  to  secular  education,  or  to  some 
other  purpose  of  general  utility,"  he  said.  "  And  It  must 
come  to  this." 

Trenchard  thought  the  ministry  had  gone  as  far  In  this  mat- 
ter as  they  well  could,  and  Seymour  Hicks  remarked  that  any 
government  which  systematically  attacked  the  Church  would 
have  "  society  "  against  It.  Endymion,  who  felt  very  nervous, 
but  who  on  Church  questions  had  strong  convictions,  ventured 
to  ask  why  the  Church  should  be  deprived  of  Its  property. 

"  In  the  case  of  Ireland,"  replied  Jawett,  quite  in  a  tone  of 
conciliatory  condescension,  "  because  it  does  not  fulfil  the  pur- 
pose for  which  It  was  endowed.  It  has  got  the  property  of 
the  nation,  and  it  is  not  the  Church  of  the  people.  But  I  go 
further  than  that.  I  would  disendow  every  Church.  They 
are  not  productive  instltjjtions.  There  is  no  reason  why  they 
should  exist.     There  is  no  use  in  them." 

"No  use  in  the  Church!"  said  Endymion,  reddening;  but 


ENDTMION,  77 

Mr.  Trenchard,  who  had  tact,  here  interfered,  and  said,  "  I  told 
you  our  friend  Jawett  was  a  great  Radical;  but  he  is  in  a  mi- 
nority among  us  on  these  matters.  Everybody,  however,  says 
what  they  like  at  Joe's." 

Then  they  talked  of  theatres,  and  critically  discussed  the  ar- 
ticles in  the  daily  papers  and  the  last  new  book,  and  there  was 
much  discussion  respecting  a  contemplated  subscription  boat; 
but  still,  in  general,  it  was  remarkable  how  they  relapsed  into 
their  favorite  subject — speculation  upon  men  in  office,  both 
permanent  and  parliamentary,  upon  their  characters  and  capac- 
ity, their  habits  and  tempers.  One  was  a  good  administrator, 
another  did  nothing;  one  had  no  detail,  another  too  much; 
one  was  a  screw,  another  a  spendthrift;  this  man  could  make 
a  set  speech,  but  could  not  reply ;  his  rival,  capital  at  a  reply, 
but  clumsy  in  a  formal  oration. 

At  this  time  London  was  a  very  dull  city,  instead  of  being, 
as  it  is  now,  a  very  amusing  one.  Probably  there  never  was  a 
city  in  the  world  with  so  vast  a  population  which  was  so  melan- 
choly. The  aristocracy  probably  have  always  found  amuse- 
ments adapted  to  the  manners  of  the  time  and  the  age  in  which 
they  lived.  The  middle  classes  half  a  century  ago  had  little 
distraction  from  their  monotonous  toil  and  melancholy  anxie- 
ties, except,  perhaps,  what  they  found  in  religious  and  philan- 
thropic societies.  Their  general  life  must  have  been  very  dull. 
Some  traditionary  merriment  always  lingered  among  the 
working  classes  of  England.  Both  in  town  and  country  they 
had  always  their  games  and  fairs  and  junketing  parties,  which 
have  developed  into  excursion  trains  and  colossal  picnics. 
But  of  all  classes  of  the  community  in  the  days  of  our  fathers, 
there  was  none  so  unfortunate  in  respect  of  public  amusements 
as  the  bachelors  about  town.  There  were,  one  might  almost 
sa}^  only  two  theatres,  and  they  so  huge  that  it  was  difficult  to 
see  or  hear  in  either.  Their  monopolies,  no  longer  redeemed 
by  the  stately  genius  of  the  Kembles,  the  pathos  of  Miss 
O'Neill,  or  the  fiery  passion  of  Kean,  were  already  menaced, 
and  were  soon  about  to  fall;  but  the  crowd  of  diminutive  but 
sparkling  substitutes  which  have  since  taken  their  place  had 
not  yet  appeared,  and  half  price  at  Drury  Lane  or  Covent 
Garden  was  a  dreary  distraction  after  a  morning  of  desk-work. 
There  were  no  Alhambras  then,  and  no  Cremornes,  no  palaces 
of  crystal  in  terraced  gardens,  no  casinos,  no  music-halls,  no 
aquaria,  no  promenade  concerts.  Evans  existed,  but  not  in  the 
fulness  of  its  modern  development;    and   the   most  popular 


78  ENDTMION. 

place  of  resort  was  the  barbarous  conviviality  of  the  Cider 
Cellar. 

Mr.  Trenchard  had  paid  the  bill,  collected  his  quotas,  and 
rewarded  the  waiter,  and  then,  as  they  all  rose,  said  to  Endy- 
mion,  "  We  are  going  to  the  Divan.     Do  you  smoke?  " 

Endymion  shook  his  head;  but  Trenchard  added,  "  Well, 
you  will  some  day;  but  you  had  better  come  with  us.  You 
need  not  smoke ;  you  can  order  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  then  you 
may  read  all  the  newspapers  and  magazines.  It  is  a  nice 
lounge." 

So,  emerging  from  Naseby  Street  into  the  Strand,  they  soon 
entered  a  tobacconist's  shop,  and  passing  through  it  were  ad- 
mitted into  a  capacious  saloon,  well  lighted  and  fitted  up  with 
low,  broad  sofas  fixed  against  the  walls,  aiwl  on  which  were 
seated  or  reclining  many  persons  chiefly  smoking  cigars,  but 
some  few  practicing  with  the  hookah  and  other  Oriental  modes. 
In  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a  table  covered  with  newspapers, 
and  publications  of  that  class.  The  companions  from  Joe's 
became  separated  after  their  entrance,  and  St.  Barbe  addressing 
Endymion,  said,  "  I  am  not  inclined  to  smoke  to-day.  We  will 
order  some  coffee,  and  you  will  find  some  amusement  in  this," 
and  he  placed  in  his  hands  a  number  of  Scai'amouch. 

"  I  hope  you  will  like  your  new  life,"  said  St.  Barbe,  throw- 
ing down  a  review  on  the  divan  and  leaning  back  sipping  his 
coffee.  "One  thing  may  be  said  in  favor  of  it;  you  will  work 
with  a  body  of  as  true-hearted  comrades  as  ever  existed.  They 
are  always  ready  to  assist  one.  Thorough  good-natured  fellows, 
that  I  will  say  for  them.  I  suppose  it  is  adversity,"  he  con 
tinned,  "  that  develops  the  kindly  qualities  of  our  nature.  I 
believe  the  sense  of  common  degradation  has  a  tendency  to 
make  the  degraded  amiable — at  least  among  themselves.  I  am 
told  it  is  found  so  in  the  plantations  in  slave-gangs." 

"  But  I  hope  we  are  not  a  slave-gang,"  said  Endymion. 

"  It  is  horrible  to  think  of  gentlemen,  and  men  of  education 
and  perhaps  first-rate  talents — who  knows? — reduced  to  our 
straits,"  said  St.  Barhe.  "  I  do  not  follow  Jawctt  in  all  his 
views,  for  I  hate  political  economy  and  never  could  under- 
stand it;  and  he  gives  it  you  pure  and  simple,  eh?  eh? — but  I 
say  it  is  something  awful  to  think  of  the  incomes  that  some 
men  are  making  who  could  no  more  write  an  article  in 
Scaramouch  than  fly." 

"  But  our  incomes  may  improve,"  said  Endymion.  "  I  was 
told  to-day  that  promotion  was  even  rapid  in  our  ofllice." 


ENDTMION,  79 

"  Our  incomes  may  improve  when  we  are  bent  and  j^ray," 
said  St.  Barbe,  "  and  we  may  even  retire  on  a  pension  about  as 
good  as  a  nobleman  leaves  to  his  valet.  Oh,  it  is  a  horrid 
world!     Your  father  is  a  privy-councillor  is  he  not?" 

"Yes,  and  so  was  my  grandfather;  but  I  do  not  think  I 
shall  ever  be  one." 

"  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  a  father  a  privy-councillor,"  said 
St.  Barbe,  with  a  glance  of  envy.  "  If  I  were  the  son  of  a 
privy-councillor,  those  demons.  Shuffle  and  Screw,  would  give 
me  five  hundred  pounds  for  my  novel,  which  now  they  put  in 
their  beastly  magazine  and  print  in  small  type,  and  do  not  pay 
me  so  much  as  a  powdered  flunkey  has  in  St.  James's  Square. 
I  agree  with  Jawett:  the  whole  thing  is  rotten." 

"  Mr.  Jawett  seems  so  have  very  strange  opinions,"  said 
Endymion.  "  I  did  not  like  to  hear  what  he  said  at  dinner 
about  the  Church;  but  Mr.  Trenchard  turned  the  conversa- 
tion and  I  thought  it  best  to  let  it  pass." 

"  Trenchard  is  a  sensible  man  and  a  good  fellow,"  said  St. 
Barbe ;  "  You  like  him  ?" 

"  I  find  him  kind." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  St.  Barbe,  in  a  whisper,  and  with  a 
distressed  and  almost  vindicative  ex^^ression  of  countenance, 
"  that  man  may  come  any  day  into  four  thousand  a  year." 
There  is  only  one  life  between  him  and  the  present  owner. 
I  believe  it  is  a  good  life,"  he  added,  in  a  more  cheerful  voice, 
"  but  still  It  might  happen.  Is  it  not  horrible  ?  Four  thousand 
a  year!  Trenchard  with  four  thousand  a  year,  and  we  receiv- 
ing little  more  than  the  pay  of  a  butler!" 

"  Well,  I  wish,  for  his  sake,  he  might  have  it,"  said  Endy- 
mion, "  though  I  might  lose  a  kind  friend." 

"  Look  at  Seymour  Hicks,"  said  St.  Barbe ;  "  he  has 
smoked  his  cigar  and  he  it  going.  He  never  remains.  He 
is  going  to  a  party,  I'll  be  bound.  That  fellow  gets 
about  in  a  most  extraordinary  manner.  Is  it  not  disgust- 
ing? I  doubt  whether  he  is  asked  much  to  dinner  though, 
or  I  think  we  should  have  heard  of  it.  Nevertheless,  Tren- 
chard said  the  other  day  that  Hicks  had  dined  with  Lord 
Cinque-Ports.  I  can  hardly  believe  it;  it  would  be  too  dis- 
gusting. No  lord  ever  asked  me  to  dinner.  But  the  aristoc- 
racy of  this  country  are  doomed." 

"  Mr.  Hicks,"  said  Endymion,  "  probably  lays  himself  out 
for  society." 

"  I  suppose  you  will,"  said  St.   Barbe,  with  a  scrutinizing 


8o  ENDTMION, 

air.  "  I  should  if  I  were  the  son  of  a  privy-councillor.  Hicks 
is  nothing;  his  father  kept  a  stable-yard  and  his  mother  was 
an  actress.  We  have  had  several  dignitaries  of  the  Church  in 
my  family  and  one  admiral.  And  yet  Hicks  dines  with  Lord 
Cinque-Ports!  It  is  positively  revolting!  But  the  things  he 
does  to  get  asked ! — sings,  rants,  conjures,  ventriloquizes,  mimics, 
stands  on  his  head.  His  great  performance  is  a  parliamentary 
debate.  We  will  make  him  do  it  for  you.  And  yet  with  all 
this  a  dull  dog — a  very  dull  dog,  sir.  He  wrote  for  Scara- 
mouch some  little  time,  but  they  can  stand  it  no  more.  Be- 
tween you  and  me,  he  has  had  notice  to  quit.  That  I  know; 
and  he  will  probably  get  the  letter  when  he  goes  home  from 
his  party  to-night.  So  much  for  success  in  society!  I  shall 
now  say  good-night  to  you." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

It  was  only  ten  o'clock  when  Endymion  returned  to  War- 
wick Street,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  used  a  pass-key, 
with  whfch  Mr.  Rodney  had  furnished  him  in  the  morning, 
and  re-entered  his  new  home.  He  thought  he  had  used  it 
very  quietly,  and  was  lighting  his  candle  and  about  to  steal  up 
to  his  lofty  heights,  when  from  the  door  of  the  parlor,  which 
opened  into  the  passage,  emerged  Miss  Imogene,  who  took 
the  candlestick  from  his  hand  and  insisted  on  waiting  upon 
him. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  something,"  she  said ;  "  you  must  let  me 
light  you  up,  for  you  can  hardly  yet  know  your  way.  I  must 
see,  too,  if  all  is  right;  you  may  want  something." 

So  she  tripped  up  lightly  before  him,  showing,  doubtless 
without  premeditation,  as  well-turned  an  ankle  and  as  pretty  a 
foot  as  could  fall  to  a  damsel's  fortunate  lot.  "  My  sister  and 
Mr.  Rodney  have  gone  to  the  play,"  she  said,  "  but  they  left 
strict  injunctions  with  me  to  see  that  you  were  comfortable,  and 
that  you  wanted  for  nothing  that  we  coukl  supply." 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  said  Endymion,  as  she  lighted  the 
candles  on  his  dressing-table,  "  and  to  tell  you  the  truth  these 
are  luxuries  I  am  not  accustomed  to,  and  to  which  I  am  not 
entitled." 

"  And  yet,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  of  blended  admiration 
and  pity, "  they  tell  me  time  was  when  gold  was  not  good 
enough  for  you,  and  I  do  not  think  it  could  be." 


END  r MI  ON,  8i 

"  Such  kindness  as  this,"  said  Endymion,  "  is  more  precious 
than  gold." 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  your  things  well  arranged.  All 
your  clothes  are  in  these  two  drawers;  the  coats  in  the  bottom 
one,  and  your  linen  in  those  above.  You  will  not  perhaps  be 
able  to  find  your  pocket-handkerchiefs  at  first.  They  are  in  this 
sachel;  my  sister  made  it  herself.  Mr.  Rodney  says  you  are 
to  be  called  at  eight  o'clock  and  breakfast  at  nine.  I  think 
ev^erything  is  right.     Good-night,  Mr.  Endymion." 

The  Rodney  household  was  rather  a  strange  one.  The  first 
two  floors,  as  we  have  mentioned,  were  let,  and  at  expensive 
rates,  for  the  apartments  were  capacious  and  capitally  furnished, 
and  the  situation,  if  not  distinguished,  was  extremely  convenient 
— quiet  from  not  being  a  thoroughfare,  and  in  the  heart  of 
civilization.  They  only  kept  a  couple  of  servants,  but  their 
principal  lodgers  had  their  personal  attendants.  And  yet  after 
sunset  the  sisters  appeared  and  presided  at  their  tea-table, 
always  exquisitely  dressed;  seldom  alone,  for  Mr.  Rodney  had 
many  friends,  and  lived  in  a  capacious  aj^artment,  rather  finely 
furnished  with  a  round  table  covered  with  gaudy  print-books, 
a  mantel-piece  crowded  with  vases  of  mock  Dresden,  and  a 
cottage  piano,  on  which  Imogene  could  accompany  her  more 
than  pleasing  voice. 

Somehow  or  other — the  process  is  difficult  to  trace — En- 
dymion not  unfrequently  found  himself  at  Mrs.  Rodney's  tea- 
table.  On  the  first  occasion  or  so,  he  felt  himself  a  little  shy 
and  embarrassed,  but  it  soon  became  natural  to  him,  and  he 
would  often  escape  from  the  symposia  at  Joe's,  and,  instead  of 
the  Divan,  find  in  Warwick  Street  a  more  congenial  scene. 
There  were  generally  some  young  men  there,  who  seemed  de- 
lighted with  the  ladies,  listened  with  enthusiasm  to  Imogene's 
singing,  and  were  allowed  to  smoke.  They  were  evidently 
gentlemen,  and  indeed  Mr.  Rodney  casually  mentioned  to  En- 
dymion that  one  of  the  most  frequent  guests  might  some  day 
even  be  a  peer  of  the  realm.  Sometimes  there  was  a  rubber  of 
whist,  and,  if  wanted,  Mrs.  Rodney  took  a  hand  in  it;  En- 
dymion sitting  apart  and  conversing  with  her  sister,  who 
amused  him  by  her  lively  observations,  indicating  even  flashes 
of  culture;  but  always  addressed  him  without  the  slightest 
pretence  and  with  the  utmost  naturalness.  This  was  not  the 
case  with  Mr.  Rodney;  pretence  with  him  was  ingrained,  and 
he  was  at  first  somewhat  embarrassed  by  the  presence  of  En- 
dymion, as  he  could   hardly  maintain  before  his  late  patron's 


82  END  r MI  ON, 

son  his  favorite  character  of  the  aristocratic  victim  of  revolu- 
tion. And  yet  this  drawback  was  more  than  counterbalanced 
by  the  gratification  of  his  vanity  in  finding  a  Ferrars  his  habit- 
ual guest.  Such  a  luxury  seemed  a  dangerous  indulgence,  but 
he  could  not  resist  it,  and  the  moth  was  always  flying  round 
the  candle.  There  was  no  danger,  however,  and  that  Mr. 
Rodney  soon  found  out.  Endymion  was  born  with  tact,  and 
it  came  to  him  as  much  from  goodness  of  heart  as  fineness  of 
taste.  Mr.  Rodney,  therefore,  soon  resumed  his  anecdotes  of 
great  men,  and  his^personal  experience  of  their  sayings,  man- 
ners, and  customs,  with  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  enliven- 
ing or  ornamenting  the  whist-table;  occasionally  introducing 
Endymion  to  the  notice  of  the  table  by  mentioning  in  a  low 
tone,  "  That  is  Mr.  Ferrars,  in  a  certain  sense  under  my  care; 
his  father  is  a  privy-councillor,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  revolu- 
tion— for  I  maintain,  and  always  will,  the  Reform  Bill  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  revolution — would  probably  have 
been  prime-minister.     He  was  my  earliest  and  my  best  friend." 

When  there  were  cards,  there  was  always  a  little  supper;  a 
lobster  and  a  roasted  potato  and  that  sort  of  easy  thing,  and 
curious  drinks,  which  the  sisters  mixed  and  made,  and  which 
no  one  else,  at  least  all  said  so,  could  mix  and  make.  On  fitting 
occasions  a  bottle  of  champagne  appeared,  and  then  the  person 
for  whom  the  wine  was  produced  was  sure  with  wonderment 
to  say,  "  Where  did  you  get  this  champagne,  Rodney?  Could 
you  get  me  some  ? "  Mr.  Rodney  shook  his  head  and  scarcely 
gave  a  hope,  but  subsequently,  when  the  praise  in  consequence 
had  continued  and  increased,  would  observe,  "  Do  you  really 
want  some?  I  cannot  promise,  but  I  will  try.  Of  course  they 
will  ask  a  high  figure." 

"  Anything  they  like,  my  dear  Rodney." 

And  in  about  a  week's  time  the  gentleman  was  so  fortunate 
as  to  get  his  champagne. 

There  was  one  subject  on  which  Mr.  Rodney  appeared  to 
be  particularly  interested,  and  that  was  racing.  The  turf  at 
that  time  had  not  developed  into  that  vast  institution  of  national 
demoralization  which  it  now  exhibits.  That  disastrous  char- 
acter may  be  mainly  attributed  to  the  determination  of  our 
legislators  to  put  down  gaming-houses,  and  which,  practically 
speaking,  substituted  for  the  pernicious  folly  of  a  comparatively 
limited  class  the  ruinous  madness  of  the  community.  There 
were  many  influences  by  which  in  the  highest  classes  persons 
might  be  discouraged  or  deterred  from  play  under  a  roof;  and 


ENDTMION.  83 

In  the  great  majority  of  cases  such  a  habit  was  difficult, 
not  to  say  impossible,  to  indulge.  But  in  shutting  up  gaming- 
houses, we  brought  the  gaming-table  into  the  street,  and  its 
practices  became  the  pursuit  of  those  who  would  otherwise 
have  never  witnessed  or  even  thought  of  them.  No  doubt 
Crockford's  had  its  tragedies,  but  all  its  disasters  and  calamities 
together  would  hardly  equal  a  lustre  of  the  ruthless  havoc 
which  has  ensued  from  its  suppression. 

Nevertheless,  in  1835  men  made  books,  and  Mr.  Rodney 
was  not  inexpert  in  a  composition  which  requires  no  ordinary 
qualities  of  character  and  intelligence;  method,  judgment,  self- 
restraint,  not  too  much  imagination,  perception  of  character, 
and  powers  of  calculation.  All  these  qualities  were  now  in 
active  demand  and  exercise;  for  the  Derby  was  at  hand,  and 
the  Rodney  family,  deeply  interested  in  the  result,  were  to 
attend  the  celebrated  festival. 

One  of  the  young  gentlemen  who  sometimes  smoked  a 
cigar  and  sometimes  tasted  a  lobster  in  their  parlor,  and  who 
seemed  alike  and  equally  devoted  to  Mrs.  Rodney  and  her 
sister,  insisted  upon  taking  them  to  Epsom  in  his  drag,  and 
they  themselves  were  to  select  the  party  to  accompany  them. 
That  was  not  difHcult,  for  they  were  naturally  all  friends  of 
their  munificent  host  with  one  exception.  Imogene  stipulated 
that  Endymion  should  be  asked,  and  Mr.  Rodney  supported 
the  suggestion.  "  He  is  the  son  of  the  privy-councillor  the 
Right  Hon.  William  Pitt  Ferrars,  my  earliest  and  my  best 
friend,  and  in  a  certain  sense  is  under  my  care." 

The  drive  to  the  Derby  was  not  then  shorn  of  its  humors 
and  glories.  It  was  the  Carnival  of  England,  with  equipages 
as  numerous  and  various,  and  with  banter  not  less  quick  and 
witty.  It  was  a  bright  day — a  day,  no  doubt,  of  wild  hopes 
and  terrible  fears,  but  yet,  on  the  whole,  of  joy  and  exultation. 
And  no  one  was  happier  and  prouder  than  pretty  Mrs.  Rod- 
ney, exquisitely  dressed  and  sitting  on  the  box  of  a  patrician 
drag,  beside  its  noble  owner.  On  the  seat  behind  them  was 
Imogene,  with  Endymion  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  the 
individual  "  who  might  one  day  be  a  peer."  Mr.  Rodney  and 
some  others,  including  Mr.  Vigo,  faced  a  couple  of  grooms, 
who  sat  with  folded  arms  and  unmoved  countenances,  fastidi- 
ously stolid  amid  all  the  fun,  and  grave  even  when  they 
opened  the  champagne. 

The  right  horse  won.  Mr.  Rodney  and  his  friends  pock- 
eted a  good  stake,  and  they  demolished  their  luncheon  of  lujt- 
uries  with  frantic  gay«ty, 


84  ENDTMIOJSr, 

"  It  is  almost  as  happy  as  our  little  suppers  in  Warwick 
Street,"  whispered  their  noble  driver  to  his  companion. 

"  Oh!  much  more  than  anything  you  can  find  there,"  sim- 
pered Mrs.  Rodney. 

"  I  declare  to  you,  some  of  the  happiest  hours  of  my  life 
have  been  passed  in  Warwick  Street,"   murmured   her  friend. 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  that,"  said  Mrs.  Rodney. 

As  for  Endymion,  he  enjoyed  himself  amazingh".  The 
whole  scene  was  new  to  him — he  had  never  been  at  a  race  be- 
fore, and  this  was  the  most  famous  of  races.  He  did  not 
know  he  had  betted  but  he  found  he,  too,  had  won  a  little 
money,  Mr.  Rodney  having  put  him  on  something,  though 
what  that  meant  he  had  not  the  remotest  idea.  Imogene, 
however,  assured  him  it  was  all  right,  Mr.  Rodney  constantly 
put  her  on  something.  He  enjoyed  the  luncheon  too;  the  cold 
chicken,  and  the  French  pies,  the  wondrous  salads,  and  the 
iced  champagne.  It  seemed  that  Imogene  was  always  taking 
care  that  his  plate  or  his  glass  should  be  filled.  Everything 
was  delightful,  and  his  noble  host,  who,  always  courteous,  had 
hitherto  been  reserved,  called  him  "  Ferrars." 

What  with  the  fineness  of  the  weather,  the  inspiration  of 
the  excited  and  countless  multitude,  the  divine  stimulus  of  the 
luncheon,  the  kindness  of  his  charming  companions,  and  the 
general  feeling  of  enjoyment  and  success  that  seemed  to  per- 
vade his  being,  Endymion  felt  as  if  he  were  almost  acting  a 
distinguished  part  in  some  splendid  triumph  of  antiquity,  as, 
returning  home,  the  four  splendid  dark  chestnuts  swept  along, 
two  of  their  gay  company  playing  bugles,  and  the  grooms  sit- 
ting with  folded  arms  of  haughty  indifference. 

Just  at  this  moment  liis  eye  fell  upon  an  omnibus  full,  inside 
and  out,  of  clerks  in  his  of^ce.  There  was  a  momentary  stop- 
page, and  while  he  returned  the  salute  of  several  of  them,  his 
quick  eye  coukl  not  avoid  recognizing  the  slightly  surprised 
glance  of  Trenchard,  the  curious  amazement  of  Seymour  Hicks, 
and  the  indignant  astonishment  of  St.  Barbe. 

"  Our  friend  Ferrars  seems  in  tiptop  company,"  said 
Trenchard. 

"  That  may  have  been  a  countess  on  the  box,"  said  Seymour 
Hicks,  "  for  I  observed  an  earl's  coronet  on  the  drag.  I  cannot 
make  out  who  it  is." 

"  There  is  no  more  advantage  in  going  with  four  horses  than 
with  two,"  said  St.  Barbe;  "indeed,  I  believe  you  go  slower. 
It  is  mere  pride ;  pufFed-up  vanity,     I  should  like  to  send  those 


END  r MI  ON.  85 

two  grooms  with  their  folded  arms  to  the  galleys — I  hate  those 
fellows.  For  my  part,  I  never  was  behind  four  horses  except 
in  a  stage-coach.  No  peer  of  the  realm  ever  took  me  on  his 
drag.  However,  a  day  of  reckoning  will  come;  the  people 
won't  stand  this  much  longer." 
Jawett  was  not  there,  for  he  disapproved  of  races. 

CHAPTER  XXH. 

Endymion  had  to  encounter  a  rather  sharp  volley  when  he 
went  to  the  office  next  morninof.  After  some  o^eneral  remarks 
as  to  the  distinguisiied  party  which  he  had  accompanied  to  the 
races,  Seymour  Hicks  could  not  resist  inquiring,  though  with 
some  circumlocution,  whether  the  lady  was  a  countess.  The 
jady  was  not  a  countess.  Who  was  the  lady?  The  lady  was 
Mrs.  Rodney.  Who  was  Mrs.  Rodney?  She  was  the  wife 
of  Mr.  Rodney,  who  accompanied  her.  Was  Mr.  Rodney  a 
relation  of  Lord  Rodney?  Endymion  believed  he  was  not  a 
relation  of  Lord  Rodney.     Who  was  Mr.  Rodney,  then? 

"  Mr.  Rodney  is  an  old  friend  of  my  father." 

This  natural  solution  of  doubts  and  difficulties  arrested  all 
further  inquiry.  Generally  speaking,  the  position  of  Endym- 
ion in  his  new  life  was  satisfactory.  He  was  regular  and  as- 
siduous in  his  attendance  at  his  office,  was  popular  with  his 
comrades,  and  was  cherished  by  his  chief,  who  had  even  in- 
vited him  to  dinner.  His  duties  were  certainly  at  present 
mechanical,  but  they  were  associated  with  an  interesting  pro- 
fession ;  and  humble  as  was  his  lot,  he  began  to  feel  the  pride 
of  public  life.  He  continued  to  be  a  regular  guest  at  Joe's, 
and  was  careful  not  to  seem  to  avoid  the  society  of  his  fellow- 
clerks  in  the  evenings,  for  he  had  an  instinctive  feeling  that  it 
was  as  well  they  shoukl  not  become  acquainted  with  his  circle 
in  Warwick  Street.  And  yet  to  him  the  attractions  of  that 
circle  became  daily  more  difficult  to  resist.  And  often  when 
he  was  enduring  the  purgatory  of  the  Divan,  listening  to  the 
snarls  of  St.  Barbe  over  the  shameful  prosperity  of  everybody 
in  this  world  except  the  snarler,  or  perhaps  went  half-price  to 
the  pit  of  Drury  Lane  with  the  critical  Trenchard,  he  was,  in 
truth,  often  restless  and  absent,  and  his  mind  was  in  another 
place,  indulging  in  visions  which  he  did  not  care  to  analyze, 
but  which  were  very  agreeable. 

One  evening,  shortly  after  the  expedition  to  Epsom,  while 
the  rest  were  playing  a  rubber,  Imogene  said  to  him ;  "  I  wish 


86  ENDTMION, 

you  to  be  friends  with  Mr.  Vigo;  I  think  he  might  be  of  use 
to  you." 

Mr.  Vigo  was  playing  whist  at  this  moment;  his  partner 
was  Sylvia,  and  they  were  playing  against  Mr.  Rodney  and 
Waldershare. 

Waldershare  was  the  tenant  of  the  second  floor.  He  was 
the  young  gentleman  "  who  might  some  day  be  a  peer."  He 
was  a  young  man  of  about  three  or  four  and  twenty  years; 
fair,  with  short  curly  brown  hair  and  blue  eyes;  not  exactly 
handsome,  but  with  a  countenance  full  of  expression,  and  the 
index  of  quick  emotions,  whether  of  joy  or  of  anger.  Walder- 
share was  the  only  child  of  a  younger  son  of  a  patrician  house, 
and  had  inherited  from  his  father  a  moderate  but  easy  fortune. 

He  had  been  the  earliest  lodger  of  the  Rodneys,  and,  taking 
advantage  of  the  Tory  reaction  had  just  been  returned  to  the 
House  of  Commons. 

What  he  would  do  there  was  a  subject  of  interesting  specu- 
lation to  his  numerous  friends,  and  it  may  be  said  admirers. 
Waldershare  was  one  of  those  vivid  and  brilliant  organizations 
which  exercise  a  peculiarly  attractive  influence  on  youth.  He 
had  been  the  hero  of  the  debating  club  at  Cambridge,  and 
many  believed  in  consequence  that  he  must  become  prime- 
minister.  He  was  witty  and  fanciful,  and  though  capricious 
and  bad-tempered,  could  flatter  and  caress.  At  Cambridge  he 
had  introduced  the  new  Oxford  heresy,  of  which  Nigel  Pen- 
ruddock  was  a  votary.  Waldershare  prayed  and  fasted,  and 
swore  by  Laud  and  Strafford.  He  took,  however,  a  more 
eminent  degree  at  Paris  than  at  his  original  Alma  Mater,  and 
becoming  passionately  addicted  to  French  literature,  his  views 
respecting  both  Church  and  State  became  modified — at  least 
in  private.  His  entrance  into  English  society,  had  been  highly 
successful,  and  as  he  had  a  due  share  of  vanity  and  was  by  no 
means  free  from  worldliness,  he  had  enjoyed  and  pursued  his 
triumphs.  But  his  versatile  nature,  M'hich  required  not  only 
constant  but  novel  excitement,  became  palled,  even  with  the 
society  of  duchesses.  There  was  a  monotony  in  the  splendor 
of  aristocratic  life  which  wearied  him,  and  for  sometime  he  had 
persuaded  himself  that  the  only  people  who  understood  the 
secret  of  existence  were  the  family  under  whose  roof  he  lodged. 

Waldershare  was  profligate,  but  sentimental;  unprincipled, 
but  romantic;  the  child  of  whim,  and  the  slave  of  an  imagi- 
nation so  freakish  and  deceptive  that  it  was  always  impossible 
tp  foretell  his  course.     He  was  alike  capable  of  sacrificing  all 


ENDTMION,  87 

his  feelings  to  worldly  considerations  or  of  forfeiting  the  world 
for  a  visionary  caprice.  At  present  his  favorite  scheme,  and 
one  to  which  he  seemed  really  attached,  was  to  educate  Imo- 
gene.  Under  his  tuition  he  had  persuaded  himself  that  she 
would  turn  out  what  he  styled  "  a  great  woman."  An  age  of 
vast  change,  according  to  Waldershare,  was  impending  over  us. 
There  was  no  male  career  in  which  one  could  confide.  Most 
men  of  mark  would  probably  be  victims,  but  "  a  great  wo- 
man "  must  always  make  her  way.  Whatever  the  circum- 
stances, she  w®uld  adapt  herself  to  them ;  ff  necessary,  would 
mould  and  fashion  them.  His  dream  was  that  Imogene 
should  go  forth  and  conquer  the  world,  and  that  in  the  sunset 
of  life  he  should  find  a  refuge  in  some  corner  of  her  palaces. 

Imogene  was  only  a  child  when  Waldershare  first  became 
a  lodger.  She  used  to  bring  his  breakfast  to  his  drawing- 
room  and  arrange  his  table.  He  encountered  her  one  day,  and 
he  requested  her  to  remain  and  always  preside  over  his  meal. 
He  fell  in  love  with  her  name,  and  wrote  her  a  series  of  son- 
nets, idealizing  her  past,  panegyrizing  her  present,  and  pro- 
phetic of  her  future  life.  Imogene,  who  was  neither  shy  nor 
obtrusive,  was  calm  amid  all  his  vagaries,  humored  his  fancies, 
even  when  she  did  not  understand  them,  and  read  his  verses 
as  she  would  a  foreign  language  which  she  was  determined  to 
master. 

Her  culture,  according  to  Waldershare,  was  to  be  carried 
on  chiefly  by  conversation.  She  was  not  to  read,  or  at  least 
not  to  read  much,  until  her  taste  was  formed  and  she  had  ac- 
quired the  due  share  of  previous  knowledge  necessary  to 
profitable  study.  As  Waldershare  was  eloquent,  brilliant,  and 
witty,  Imogene  listened  to  him  with  wondering  interest  and 
amusement,  even  when  she  found  some  dif^culty  in  follow- 
ing him,  but  her  apprehension  was  so  quick  and  her  tact  so 
fine  that  her  progress,  though  she  was  almost  unconscious  of 
it,  was  remarkable.  Sometimes  in  the  evening,  while  the 
others  were  smoking  together  or  playing  whist,  Waldershare 
and  Imogene,  sitting  apart,  were  engaged  in  apparently  the 
most  interesting  converse.  It  was  impossible  not  to  observe 
the  animation  and  earnestness  of  Waldershare,  and  the  great 
attention  with  which  his  companion  responded  to  his  repre- 
sentations. Yet  all  this  time  he  was  only  giving  her  a  lecture 
on  Madam  de  Sevigne. 

Waldershare  used  to  take  Imogene  to  the  National  Gallery 
and   Hampton  Court,  and  other  delightful  scenes  of  popular 

^^^^ 


B8  END  r MI  ON. 

education,  but  of  late  Mrs.  Rodney  had  informed  her  sister 
that  she  was  no  longer  young  enough  to  permit  these  expedi- 
tions. Imogene  accepted  the  announcement  without  a  mur- 
mur, but  it  occasioned  Waldershare  several  sonnets  of  heart- 
rending remonstrance.  Imogene  continued,  however,  to  make 
his  breakfast,  and  kept  his  parliamentary  papers  in  order, 
which  he  never  could  manage,  but  the  m.ysteries  of  which 
Imogene  mastered  with  feminine  quickness  and  precision. 
Whenever  Waldershare  was  away  he  always  maintained  a 
constant  correspondence  with  Imogene.  In  this  he  commun- 
icated everything  to  her  without  the  slightest  reserve;  describ- 
ing everything  he  saw,  almost  everything  he  heard,  pages 
teeming  with  anecdotes  of  a  world  of  which  she  could  know 
nothing — the  secrets  of  courts  and  coteries,  memoirs  of  princes 
and  ministers,  of  dandies  and  dames  of  fashion.  "  If  anything 
happens  to  me,"  Waldershare  would  say  to  Imogene,  "  this 
correspondence  may  be  worth  thousands  to  you,  and  when  it 
is  published  it  will  connect  your  name  with  mine,  and  assist 
my  grand  idea  of  your  becoming  '  a  great  woman.' " 

"  But  I  do  not  know  Mr.  Vigo,"  whispered  Endymion  to 
Imogene. 

"  But  you  have  met  him  here,  and  you  went  together  to 
Epsom.  It  is  enough.  He  is  going  to  ask  you  to  dine  with 
him  on  Saturday.  We  shall  be  there,  and  Mr.  Waldershare 
is  going.  He  has  a  beautiful  place,  and  it  will  be  very  pleas- 
ant." And,  exactly  as  Imogene  had  anticipated,  Mr.  Vigo,  in 
the  course  of  the  evening,  did  ask  Endymion  to  do  him  the 
honor  of  becoming  his  guest. 

The  villa  of  Mr.  Vigo  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames, 
and  had  once  belonged  to  a  noble  customer.  The  Palladian 
mansion  contained  a  suite  of  chambers  of  m-ajestic  dimensions 
— lofty  ceilings,  rich  cornices,  and  vast  windows  of  plate-glass; 
the  gardens  were  rich  with  the  products  of  conservatories 
which  Mr.  Vigo  had  raised  with  every  modern  improvement, 
and  a  group  of  stately  cedars  supported  the  dignity  of  the 
scene  and  gave  to  it  a  name.  Beyond,  a  winding  walk  encircled 
a  large  field  which  Mr.  Vigo  called  the  park,  and  whicli 
sparkled  with  gold  and  silver  pheasants,  and  the  keeper  lived 
in  a  newly-raised  habitation  at  the  extreme  end,  which  took 
the  form  of  a  Swiss  cottage. 

The  Rodney  family,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Waldershare  and 
Endymion,  went  to  the  Cedars  by  water.  It  was  a  delightful 
afternoon  of  June,  the  river  warm  and  still,  and  the  soft,  fitful 


END  r MI  ON.  89 

western  breeze  occasionally  rich  with  the  perfume  of  the  gar- 
dens of  Putney  and  Chiswick.  Waldershare  talked  the  whole 
way.  It  was  a  rhapsody  of  fancy,  fun,  knowledge,  anecdote, 
brilliant  badinage — even  passionate  seriousness.  Sometimes  he 
recited  poetry,  and  his  voice  was  musical;  and  then,  when  he 
had  attuned  his  companions  to  a  sentimental  pitch,  he  would 
break  into  mockery,  and  touch  with  delicate  satire  every  mood 
of  human  feeling.  Endymion  listened  to  him  in  silence  and 
admiration.  He  had  never  heard  Waldershare  talk  before, 
and  he  had  never  heard  anybody  like  him.  All  this  time  what 
was  now,  and  ever,  remarkable  in  Waldershare  were  his 
manners.  They  were  finished,  even  to  courtliness.  Affable 
and  winning,  he  was  never  familiar.  He  always  addressed 
Sylvia  as  if  she  were  one  of  those  duchesses  round  whom  he 
used  to  linger.  He  would  bow  deferentially  to  her  remarks, 
and  elicit  from  some  of  her  casual  observations  an  acute  or 
graceful  meaning,  of  which  she  herself  was  by  no  means  con- 
scious. The  bow  of  Waldershare  was  a  study.  Its  grace  and 
ceremony  must  have  been  organic;  for  there  was  no  tradi- 
tionary type  in  existence  from  which  he  could  have  derived  or 
inherited  it.  He  certainly  addressed  Imogene  and  spoke  of 
her  by  her  Christian  name;  but  this  was  partly  because  he 
was  in  love  with  the  name,  and  partly  because  he  would  per- 
sist in  still  treating  her  as  a  child.  But  his  manner  to  her 
always  was  that  of  tender  respect.  She  was  almost  as  silent 
as  Endymion  during  their  voyage,  but  not  less  attentive  to  her 
friend.  Mr.  Rodney  was  generally  silent,  and  never  opened 
his  mouth  on  this  occasion  except  in  answer  to  an  inquiry  from 
his  wife  as  to  whom  a  villa  might  belong,  and  it  seemed  always 
that  he  knew  every  villa,  and  every  one  to  whom  they  belonged. 
The  sisters  were  in  demi-toilet,  which  seemed  artless,  though 
in  fact  it  was  profoundly  devised.  Sylvia  was  the  only  person 
who  really  understood  the  meaning  of  "  simplex  munditiis," 
and  this  was  one  of  the  secrets  of  her  success.  There  were 
some  ladies  on  the  lawn  of  the  Cedars  when  they  arrived,  not 
exactly  of  their  school,  and  who  were  finely  and  fully  dressed. 
Mrs.  Gamme  was  the  wife  of  a  sporting  attorney,  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Vigo,  and  who  also,  having  a  villa  at  hand,  was  looked 
upon  as  a  country  neighbor.  Mrs.  Gamme  was  universally  rec- 
ognized to  be  a  fine  woman,  and  she  dressed  up  to  her  rejDuta- 
tion.  She  was  a  famous  whist-player  at  high  points,  and  dealt 
the  cards  with  hands  covered  with  diamond  rings.  Another 
country  neighbor  was  the  chief  partner  in  the  celebrated  firm 


90  END  2  MI  ON. 

of  Hooghley,  Dacca  &  Co.,  dealers  in  Indian  and  other 
shawls.  Mr.  Hooghley  had  married  a  celebrated  actress,  and 
was  proud  and  a  little  jealous  of  his  wife.  Mrs.  Hooghley  had 
always  an  opportunity  at  the  Cedars  of  meeting  some  friends 
in  her  former  profession,  for  Mr.  Vigo  liked  to  be  surrounded 
by  genius  and  art.  "  I  must  have  talent,"  he  would  exclaim, 
as  he  looked  round  at  the  amusing  and  motley  multitude  assem- 
bled at  his  splendid  entertainments.  And  to-day  upon  his 
lawn  might  be  observed  the  first  tenor  of  the  opera  and  a 
prima-donna  who  had  just  arrived,  several  celebrated  members 
of  the  English  stage  of  both  sexes,  artists  of  great  reputation, 
whose  principal  works  already  adorned  the  well-selected  walls 
of  the  Cedars,  a  danseuse  or  two  of  celebrity,  some  literary 
men,  as  Mr.  Vigo  styled  them,  who  were  chiefly  brethren  of 
the  periodical  press,  and  more  than  one  member  of  either 
house  of  Parliament. 

Just  as  the  party  were  preparing  to  leave  the  lawn  and  enter 
the  dining-room,  arrived,  breathless  and  glowing,  the  young 
earl  who  had  driven  the  Rodneys  to  the  Derby. 

"A  shaver,  my  dear  Vigo!  Only  returned  to  town  this 
afternoon,  and  found  your  invitation.  How  fortunate !  "  And 
then  he  looked  around,  and  recognizing  Mrs.  Rodney  w,as 
immediately  at  her  side.  "  I  must  have  the  honor  of  takiijig 
you  in  to  dinner.  I  got  your  note,  but  only  by  this  morning's 
post."  _  \ 

The  dinner  was  a  banquet — a  choice  bouquet  before  every 
guest,  turtle  and  venison  and  piles  of  whitebait,  and  pineapple^ 
of  prodigious  size,  and  bunches  of  grapes  that  had  gainedV 
prizes.  The  champagne  seemed  to  flow  in  fountains,  and  was 
only  interrupted  that  the  guest  might  quaff  Burgundy  or  taste 
Tokay.  But  what  was  more  delightful  than  all  was  the  enjoy- 
ment of  all  present,  and  especially  of  their  host.  That  is  a  rare 
sight.  Banquets  are  not  rare,  nor  choice  guests,  nor  gracious 
hosts,  but  when  do  we  ever  see  a  person  enjoy  anything.'' 
But  these  gay  chidren  of  art  and  whim,  and  successful  labor 
and  happy  speculation,  some  of  them  very  rich,  and  some  of 
them  without  a  sou,  seemed  only  to  think  of  the  festive  hour 
and  all  its  joys.  Neither  wealth  nor  poverty  brought  them 
cares.  Every  face  sparkled;  every  word  seemed  witty,  and 
every  sound  seemed  sweet.  A  band  played  upon  the  lawn 
during  the  dinner,  and  were  succeeded,  when  the  dessert  com- 
menced, by  strange  choruses  from  singers  of  some  foreign  land, 
who  for  the  first  time  aired  their  picturesque  costumes  on  the 
banks  of  the  Thames. 


END  r MI  ON,  91 

When  the  ladles  had  withdrawn  to  the  saloon,  the  first  comic 
singer  of  the  age  excelled  himself;  and  when  they  rejoined 
their  fair  friends,  the  primo-tenore  and  the  prima-donna  gave 
them  a  grand  scena,  succeeded  by  the  English  performers  in  a 
favorite  scene  from  a  famous  farce.  Then  Mrs.  Gramme  had 
an  opportunity  of  dealing  with  her  diamond  rings,  and  the  rest 
danced — a  waltz  of  whirling  grace,  or  merry  cotillion  of  jocund 
bouquets. 

"  Well,  Clarence,"  said  Waldershare  to  the  young  earl,  as 
they  stood  for  a  moment  apart,  "  was  I  right  ? " 

"  By  Jove !  yes.  It  is  the  only  life.  You  were  quite  right. 
We  should  indeed  be  fools  to  sacrifice  ourselves  to  the  con- 
ventional." 

The  Rodney  party  returned  home  in  the  drag  of  the  last 
speaker.  They  were  the  last  to  retire,  as  Mr.  Vigo  wished 
for  one  cigar  with  his  noble  friend.  As  he  bade  farewell,  and 
cordially,  to  Endymion,  he  said,  "  Call  on  me  to-morrow 
morning  in  Burlington  Street  in  your  way  to  your  office.  Do 
not  mind  the  hour.     I  am  an  early  bird." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"It  is  no  favor,"  said  Mr.  Vigo;  "it  is  not  even  an  act  of 
friendliness;  it  is  a  freak,  and  it  is  my  freak;  the  favor,  if  there 
be  one,  is  conferred  by  you." 

"  But  I  really  do  not  know  what  to  say,"  said  Endymion, 
hesitating  and  confused. 

"  I  am  not  a  classical  scholar,"  said  Mr.  Vigo,  "  but  there 
are  two  things  which  I  think  I  understand — men  and  horses. 
I  like  to  back  them  both  when  I  think  they  ought  to  win." 

"  But  I  am  scarcely  a  man,"  said  Endymion,  rather  pite- 
ously,  "  and  I  sometimes  think  I  shall  never  win  anything." 

"This  is  my  affair,"  replied  Mr.  Vigo;  "you  are  a  yearling, 
and  I  have  formed  my  judgment  as  to  your  capacity.  What 
I  wish  to  do  in  your  case  is  what  I  have  done  in  others,  and 
some  memorable  ones.  Dress  does  not  make  a  man,  but  it 
often  makes  a  successful  one.  The  most  precious  stone,  you 
know,  must  be  cut  and  polished.  I  shall  enter  your  name  in 
my  books  for  an  unlimited  credit,  and  no  account  to  be  settled 
till  you  are  a  privy-councillor.  I  do  not  limit  the  credit,  be- 
cause you  are  a  man  of  sense  and  a  gentleman,  and  will  not 
abuse  it.     But  be  quite  as  careful  not  to  stint  yourself  as  not  to 


;93  BNDTMION. 

be  needlessly  extravagant.  In  the  first  instance,  you  would  be 
interfering  with  my  experiment,  and  that  would  not  be  fair." 

This  conversation  took  place  in  Mr.  Vigo's  counting-house 
the  morning  after  the  entertainment  at  his  villa.  Endymion 
called  upon  Mr.  Vigo  on  his  way  to  his  office,  as  he  had  been 
requested  to  do,  and  Mr.  Vigo  had  expressed  his  wishes  and 
intentions  with  regard  to  Endymion  as  intimated  in  the  pre- 
ceeding  remarks. 

"  I  have  known  many  an  heiress  lost  by  her  suitor  being  ill- 
dressed,"  said  Mr.  Vigo.  "  You  must  dress  according  to  your 
age,  your  pursuits,  your  object  in  life;  you  must  dress  too,  in 
some  cases,  according  to  your  set.  In  youth  a  little  fancy  is 
rather  expected,  but  if  political  life  be  your  object,  it  should  be 
avoided,  at  least  after  one-and-twenty.  I  am  dressing  two 
brothers  now,  men  of  considerable  position ;  one  is  a  mere  man 
of  pleasure,  the  other  will  probably  be  a  minister  of  state. 
They  are  as  like  as  two  peas,  but  were  I  to  dress  the  dandy 
and  the  minister  the  same,  it  would  be  bad  taste — it  would  be 
ridiculous.  No  man  gives  me  the  trouble  which  Lord  Eglan- 
tine does;  he  has  not  made  up  his  mind  whether  he  will  be  a 
great  poet  or  prime-minister.  '  You  must  choose,  my  lord,'  I 
tell  him.  '  I  cannot  send  you  out  looking  like  Lord  Byron  if 
you  mean  to  be  a  Canning  or  a  Pitt.'  I  have  dressed  a  great 
many  of  our  statesmen  and  orators,  and  I  always  dressed  them 
according  to  their  style  and  the  nature  of  their  duties.  What 
all  men  should  avoid  is  the  '  shabby  genteel.'  No  man  ever 
gets  over  it.  I  will  save  you  from  that.  You  had  better  be  in 
rags." 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

When  the  twins  had  separated,  they  had  resolved  on  a 
system  of  communication  which  had  been,  at  least  on  the  part 
of  Myra,  scrupulously  maintained.  They  were  to  interchange 
letters  every  week,  and  each  letter  was  to  assume,  if  possible, 
the  shape  of  a  journal,  so  that  when  they  again  met  no  portion 
of  the  interval  should  be  a  blank  in  their  past  lives.  There 
were  few  incidents  in  the  existence  of  Myra;  a  book,  a  walk,  a 
visit  to  the  rectory,  were  among  the  chief.  The  occupations  of 
their  father  were  unchanged,  and  his  health  seemed  sustained, 
bat  that  of  her  mother  was  not  satisfactory.  Mrs.  Ferrars  had 
never  rallied  since  the  last  discomfiture  of  her  political  liopes, 
and  had  never  resumed  her  previous  tenor  of  life,     She  was 


ENDTMION.  93 

secluded,  her  spirits  uncertain,  moods  of  depression  succeeded 
by  fits  of  unaccountable  excitement,  and,  on  the  whole,  Myra 
feared  a  general  and  chronic  disturbance  of  her  nervous  system. 
His  sister  prepared  Endymion  for  encountering  a  great  change 
in  their  parent  when  he  returned  home.  Myra,  however, 
never  expatiated  on  the  affairs  of  Hurstley.  Her  annals  in 
this  respect  were  somewhat  dry.  She  fulfilled  her  promise  of 
recording  them,  but  no  more.  Her  pen  was  fuller  and  more 
eloquent  in  her  comments  on  the  life  of  her  brother  and  of  the 
new  characters  with  whom  he  had  become  acquainted.  She 
delighted  to  hear  about  Mr.  Jawett,  and  especially  about  Mr. 
St.  Barbe,  and  was  much  pleased  that  he  had  been  to  the 
Derby,  though  she  did  not  exactly  collect  who  were  his  com- 
panions. Did  he  go  with  that  kind  Mr.  Trenchard?  It 
would  seem  that  Endymion's  account  of  the  Rodney  family 
had  been  limited  to  vague  though  earnest  acknowledgments 
of  their  great  civility  and  attention,  which  added  much  to  the 
comfort  of  his  life.  Impelled  by  some  of  these  grateful  though 
general  remarks,  Mrs.  Ferrars,  in  a  paroxysm  of  stately  grati- 
tude, had  sent  a  missive  to  Sylvia,  such  as  a  sovereign  might 
address  to  a  deserving  subject,  at  the  same  time  acknowledg- 
ing and  commending  her  duteous  services.  Such  was  the  old 
domestic  superstition  of  the  Rodneys,  that,  with  all  their  world- 
liness,  they  treasured  this  eflfusion  as  if  it  had  really  enanated 
from  the  centre  of  power  and  courtly  favor. 

Myra,  in  her  anticipations  of  speedily  meeting  her  brother, 
was  doomed  to  disappointment.  She  had  counted  on  Endym- 
ion obtaining  some  holidays  in  the  usual  recess,  but,  in  conse- 
quence of  having  so  recently  joined  the  office,  Endymion  was 
retained  for  summer  and  autumnal  work,  and  not  till  Christmas 
was  there  any  prospect  of  his  returning  home. 

The  interval  between  midsummer  and  that  period,  though 
not  devoid  of  seasons  of  monotony  and  loneliness,  passed  in  a 
way  not  altogether  unprofitable  to  Endymion.  Waldershare, 
who  had  begun  to  notice  him,  seemed  to  become  interested  in 
his  career.  Waldershare  knew  all  about  his  historic  ancestor, 
Endymion  Carey.  The  bubbling  imagination  of  Waldershare 
clustered  with  a  sort  of  wild  fascination  round  a  living  link 
with  the  age  of  the  cavaliers.  He  had  some  Stuart  blood  in 
his  veins,  and  his  ancestors  had  fallen  at  Edgehill  and  Marston 
Moor.  Waldershare,  whose  fancies  alternated  between  Straf- 
ford and  St.  Just,  Archbishop  Laud  and  the  Goddess  of  Reason, 
reverted  for  the  moment  to  his  visions  on  the  banks  of  the  Cam, 


94  ENDTMION, 

and  the  brilliant  rhapsodies  of  his  boyhood.  His  converse 
with  Nigel  Penruddock  had  prepared  Endymion  in  some  de- 
gree for  these  mysteries,  and  perhaps  it  was  because  W  alder- 
share  found  that  Endymion  was  by  no  means  ill-informed 
on  these  matters,  and  therefore  there  was  less  opportunity  of 
dazzling  and  moulding  him,  which  was  a  passion  with  Walder- 
share,  that  he  soon  quitted  the  Great  Rebellion  for  pastures 
new,  and  impressed  upon  his  pupil  that  all  that  had  occurred 
before  the  French  Revolution  was  ancient  history.  The 
French  Revolution  had  introduced  the  cosmopolitan  principle 
into  human  affairs  instead  of  the  national,  and  no  public  man 
could  succeed  who  did  not  comprehend  and  acknowledge  that 
truth.  Waldershare  lent  Endymion  books,  and  books  with 
which  otherwise  he  would  not  have  oecome  acquainted. 
Unconsciously  to  himself,  the  talk  of  Waldershare,  teeming 
with  knowledge  and  fancy  and  playfulness  and  airy  sarcasm  of 
life,  taught  him  something  of  the  art  of  conversation — to  be 
prompt  without  being  stubborn,  to  refute  without  argument, 
and  to  clothe  grave  matters  in  a  motley  garb. 

But  in  August  Waldershare  disappeared,  and  at  the  begin- 
ning of  September,  even  the  Rodneys  had  gone  to  Margate. 
St.  Barbe  was  the  only  clerk  left  in  Endymion's  room.  They 
dined  together  almost  every  day,  and  went  on  the  top  of  an 
omnibus  to  many  a  suburban  paradise.  "  I  tell  you  what,"  said 
St.  Barbe,  as  they  were  watching  one  day  togeriier  the  humors 
of  the  world  in  the  crowded  tea-garden  and  bustling  bowUng- 
green  of  Canonbury  Tavern,  "  a  fellow  might  get  a  good 
chapter  out  of  this  scene.  I  could  do  it,  but  I  will  not.  What 
is  the  use  of  lavishing  one's  brains  on  an  ungrateful  world  ? 
Why,  if  that  fellow  Gushy  were  to  write  a  description  of  this 
place,  which  he  would  do  like  a  penny-a-liner  drunk  with 
ginger-beer,  every  countess  in  Mayfair  would  be  reading  him, 
not  knowing,  the  idiot,  whether  she  ought  to  smile  or  shed 
tears,  and  sending  him  cards  with  '  at  home '  upon  them  as 
large  as  life.  Oh!  it  is  disgusting!  absolutely  disgusting.  It 
is  a  nefarious  world,  sir.  You  will  find  it  out  some  day.  I 
am  as  much  robbed  by  that  fellow  Gushy  as  men  are  on  the 
highway.  He  is  appropriating  my  income,  and  the  income  of 
thousands  of  honest  fellows.  And  then  he  pretends  he  is 
writing  for  the  people!  The  people!  What  does  he  know 
about  the  people?  Annals  of  the  New  Cut  and  Saffron  Hill. 
He  thinks  he  will  frighten  some  lord,  who  will  ask  him  to  din- 
ner.    And  that  he  calls  Progress.     I  hardly  know  which  is 


END  TM I  ON,  95 

the  worst  class  in  this  country — the  aristocracy,  the  middle 
class,  or  what  they  call  the  people.     I  hate  them  all." 

About  the  fall  of  the  leaf  the  offices  were  all  filled  again, 
and  among  the  rest  Trenchard  returned.  "  His  brother  has 
been  ill,"  said  St.  Barbe.  "  They  say  that  Trenchard  is  very 
fond  of  him.  Fond  of  a  brother  who  keeps  him  out  of  four 
thousand  pounds  per  annum !  What  will  man  not  say  ?  And 
yet  I  could  not  go  and  congratulate  Trenchard  on  his  brother's 
death.  It  would  be  '  bad  taste.'  Trenchard  would  perhaps 
never  speak  to  me  again,  though  he  had  been  lying  awake  all 
night  chuckling  over  the  event.  And  Gushy  takes  an  amiable 
view  of  this  world  of  hypocrisy  and  plunder.  And  that  is 
why  Gushy  is  so  popular!  " 

There  was  one  incident  at  the  beginning  of  November 
which  eventually  exercised  no  mean  influence  on  the  life  of 
Endymion.  Trenchard  offered  one  evening  to  introduce  him 
as  a  guest  to  a  celebrated  debating-society,  of  which  Trenchard 
was  a  distinguished  member.  This  society  had  grown  out  of 
the  Union  at  Cambridge,  and  was  originally  intended  to  have 
been  a  metropolitan  branch  of  that  famous  association.  But 
in  process  of  tim«  it  was  found  that  such  a  constitution  was 
too  limited  to  insure  those  numbers  and  that  variety  of  mind 
desirable  in  such  an  institution.  It  was  therefore  opened  to 
the  whole  world  duly  qualified.  The  predominant  element, 
however,  for  a  long  time  consisted  of  Cambridge  men. 

This  society  used  to  meet  in  a  large  room  fitted  up  as  much 
like  the  House  of  Commons  as  possible,  and  which  was  in 
Freemasons'  Tavern,  in  Great  Queen  Street.  Some  hundred 
and  fifty  members  were  present  when  Endymion  paid  his  first 
visit  there,  and  the  scene  to  Endymion  was  novel  and  deeply 
interesting.  Though  only  a  guest,  he  was  permitted  to  sit  in 
the  body  of  the  chamber  by  the  side  of  Trenchard,  who 
kindly  gave  him  some  information,  as  the  proceedings  ad- 
vanced, as  to  the  principal  personages  who  took  part  in  them. 

The  question  to  night  was,  whether  the  decapitation  of 
Charles  the  First  were  a  justifiable  act,  and  the  debate  was 
opened  in  the  affirmative  by  a  young  man  with  a  singularly 
sunny  face  and  a  voice  of  music.  His  statement  was  clear  and 
calm.  Though  nothing  could  be  more  uncompromising  than 
his  opinions,  it  seemed  that  nothing  could  be  fairer  than  his 
facts. 

"  That  is  Hortensius,"  said  Trenchard ;  "  he  will  be  called 
this  term.     They  say  he  did  nothing  at  the  university,  and  is 


96  BNDTMION. 

too  idle  to  do  anything  at  the  bar;  but  I  think  highly  of  him. 
You  should  hear  him  in  reply." 

The  opening  speech  was  seconded  by  a  very  young  man,  in 
a  most  artificial  style,  remarkable  for  its  superfluity  of  intended 
sarcasm,  which  was  delivered  in  a  highly  elaborate  tone, 
so  that  the  speaker  seemed  severe  without  being  keen. 

"  'Tis  the  new  Cambridge  style,"  whispered  Trenchard, 
"  but  it  will  not  go  down  here." 

The  question  having  been  launched.  Spruce  arose,  a  very 
neat  speaker;  a  little  too  mechanical,  but  plausible.  Endy- 
mion  was  astonished  at  the  dexterous  turns  in  his  own  favor 
which  he  gave  to  many  of  the  statements  of  Hortensius,  and 
how  he  mangled  and  massacred  the  seconder,  who  had  made  a 
mistake  in  a  date. 

"  He  is  the  Tory  leader,"  said  Trenchard.  "  There  are  not 
twenty  Tories  in  the  Union,  but  we  always  listen  to  him.  He 
is  sharp.    Jawett  will  answer  him." 

And,  accordingly,  that  great  man  rose.  Jawett,  in  dulcet 
tones  of  philanthropy,  intimated  that  he  was  not  opposed  to 
the  decapitation  of  kings;  on  the  contrary,  if  there  were  no 
other  way  of  getting  rid  of  them,  he  would  have  recourse  to 
such  a  method.  But  he  did  not  think  the  case  before  them 
was  justifiable. 

"  Always  crotchety,"  whispered  Trenchard. 

Jawett  thought  the  whole  conception  of  the  opening  speech 
erroneous.  It  proceeded  on  the  assumption  that  the  execution 
of  Charles  was  the  act  of  the  people;  on  the  contrary,  it  was 
an  intrigue  of  Cromwell,  who  was  the  only  person  who  prof- 
ited by  it. 

Cromwell  was  vindicated,  and  panegyrized  in  a  flaming 
speech,  by  Montreal,  who  took  this  opportunity  of  denouncing 
alike  kings  and  bishops.  Church  and  State,  with  powerful  in- 
vective, terminating  his  address  by  the  expression  of  an  earn- 
est hope  that  he  might  be  spared  to  witness  the  inevitable 
Commonwealth  of  England. 

"  He  only  lost  his  election  at  Rattleton  by  ten  votes,"  said 
Trenchard.  "  We  call  him  the  Lord  Protector,  and  his  friends 
here  think  he  will  be  so." 

The  debate  was  concluded,  after  another  hour,  by  Horten- 
sius, and  Endymion  was  struck  by  the  contrast  between  his 
first  and  second  manner.  Safe  from  reply,  and  reckless  in  his 
security,  it  is  not  easy  to  describe  the  audacity  of  his  retorts,  or 
the  tumult  of  his  eloquence.    Rapid,  sarcastic,  humorous,  pictu- 


ENDTMION,  97 

resque,  impassioned,  he  seemed  to  carry  everything  before  him, 
and  to  resemble  his  former  self  in  nothing  but  the  music  of  his 
voice,  which  lent  melody  to  scorn,  and  sometimes  reached  the 
depth  of  pathos. 

Endymion  w^alked  home  with  Trenchard,  and  in  a  musing 
mood.  "  I  should  not  care  how  lazy  I  was,"  said  Endymion, 
"  if  1  could  speak  like  Hortensius." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  snow  was  falling  about  the  time  when  the  Swindon 
coach,  in  which  Endymion  was  a  passenger,  was  expected  at 
Hurstley,  and  the  snow  had  been  falling  all  day.  Nothing  had 
been  more  dreary  than  the  outward  world,  or  less  entitled  to 
the  merry  epithet  which  is  the  privilege  of  the  season.  The 
gardener  had  been  despatched  to  the  village  inn,  where  the 
coach  stopped,  with  a  lantern  and  cloaks  and  umbrellas. 
Within  the  house  the  huge  blocks  of  smouldering  beech  sent 
forth  a  hospitable  heat,  and,  whenever  there  was  a  sound,  Myra 
threw  cones  on  the  inflamed  mass,  that  Endymion  might  be 
welcomed  with  a  blaze.  Mrs.  Ferrars,  who  had  appeared  to- 
day, though  late,  and  had  been  very  nervous  and  excited, 
broke  down  half  an  hour  before  her  son  could  arrive,  and, 
murmuring  that  she  would  reappear,  had  retired.  Her  husband 
was  apparently  reading,  but  his  eye  wandered  and  his  mind 
was  absent  from  the  volume. 

The  dogs  barked;  Mr.  Ferrars  threw  down  his  book,  Myra 
forgot  her  cones;  the  door  burst  open,  and  she  was  in  her 
brother's  arms. 

"  And  where  is  mamma?"  said  Endymion,  after  he  had 
greeted  his  father. 

"  She  will  be  here  directly,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars.  "  You  are 
late,  and  the  suspense  of  your  arrival  a  little  agitated  her." 

Three  quarters  of  a  year  had  elapsed  since  the  twins  had 
parted,  and  they  were  at  that  period  of  life  when  such  an  interval 
often  produces  no  slight  changes  in  personal  appearance.  En- 
dymion, always  tall  for  his  years,  had  considerably  grown; 
his  air  and  manner  and  dress  were  distinguished.  But 
three  quarters  of  a  year  had  produced  a  still  greater  effect 
upon  his  sister.  He  had  left  her  a  beautiful  girl ;  her  beauty 
was  not  less  striking,  but  it  was  now  the  beauty  of  a  woman. 
Her  mien  was  radiant,  but  commanding,  and  her  brow,  always 
remarkable,  was  singularly  impressive. 


98  NDTMIOl^r. 

They  stood  in  animated  converse  before  the  fire,  Endymion 
between  his  father  and  his  sister,  and  retaining  of  each  a  hand, 
when  Mr.  Ferrars  nodded  to  Myra  and  said,  "  I  think  now;'* 
and  Myra,  not  reluctantly,  but  not  with  happy  eagerness,  left 
the  room. 

"  She  is  gone  for  your  poor  mother,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars ;  "  we 
are  uneasy  about  her,  my  dear  boy." 

Myra  was  some  time  away,  and  when  she  returned  she  was 
alone.  "  She  says  she  must  see  him  first  in  her  room,"  said 
Myra,  in  a  low  voice,  to  her  father;  "  but  that  will  never  do; 
you  or  I  must  go  with  him." 

"  You  had  better  go,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars. 

She  took  her  brother's  hand  and  led  him  away.  "  I  go  with 
you,  to  prevent  dreadful  scenes,"  said  his  sister  on  the  staircase. 
"Try  to  behave  just  as  in  old  times,  and  as  if  you  saw  no 
change." 

Myra  went  into  the  chamber  fii'st  to  give  to  her  mother,  if 
possible,  the  key-note  of  the  interview,  and  of  which  she  had 
already  furnished  the  prelude.  "  We  are  all  so  happy  to  see 
Endymion  again,  dear  mamma.     Papa  is  quite  gay." 

And  then  when  Endymion,  answering  his  sister's  beckon, 
entered,  Mrs.  Ferrars  rushed  forward  with  a  sort  of  laugh, 
and  cried  out,  "  Oh!  I  am  so  happy  to  see  you  again,  my 
child.     I  feel  quite  gay." 

He  embraced  her,  but  he  could  not  believe  it  was  his 
mother.  A  visage  at  once  haggard  and  bloated  had  sup- 
planted that  soft  and  rich  countenance  which  had  captivated  so 
many.  A  robe  concealed  her  attenuated  frame;  but  the  lus- 
trous eyes  were  bleared  and  bloodshot,  and  the  accents  of  the 
voice,  which  used  to  be  at  once  melodious  and  a  little  drawl- 
ing, hoarse,  harsh,  and  hurried. 

She  never  stopped  talking;  but  it  was  all  in  one  key,  and 
that  the  prescribed  one — her  happiness  at  his  arrival,  the  uni- 
versal gayety  it  had  produced,  and  the  merry  Christmas  they 
were  to  keep.  After  a  time  she  began  to  recur  to  the  past, 
and  to  sigh ;  but  instantly  Myra  interfered  with  "  You  know, 
mamma,  you  are  to  dine  down-stairs  to-day,  and  you  will 
hardly  have  time  to  dress;"  and  she  motioned  to  Endymion  to 
retire. 

Mrs.  Ferrars  kept  the  dinner  waiting  a  long  time, and,  when 
she  entered  the  room,  it  was  evident  that  she  was  painfully 
excited.     She  had  a  cap  on,  and  had  used  some  rouge. 


ENDTMION,  99 

"  Endymlon  must  take  me  in  to .  dinner,"  she  hurriedly 
exclaimed  as  she  entered,  and  then  grasped  her  son's  arm. 

It  seemed  a  happy  and  even  a  merry  dinner,  and  yet  there 
was  something  about  it  forced  and  constrained.  Mrs.  Ferrars 
talked  a  great  deal,  and  Endymion  told  them  a  great  many 
anecdotes  of  those  men  and  things  which  most  interested  them, 
and  Myra  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  his  remarks  and  narratives, 
and  his  mother  would  drink  his  health  more  than  once,  when 
suddenly  she  went  into  hysterics,  and  all  was  anarchy.  Mr. 
Ferrars  looked  distressed  and  infinitely  sad ;  and  Myra,  putting 
her  arm  round  her  mother,  and  whispering  words  of  calm  or 
comfort,  managed  to  lead  her  out  of  the  room,  and  neither  of 
them  returned. 

"  Poor  creature ! "  said  Mr.  Ferrars,  with  a  sigh.  "  Seeing 
you  has  been  too  much  for  her." 

The  next  morning  Endymion  and  his  sister  paid  a  visit  to 
the  rectory,  and  there  they  met  Nigel,  who  was  passing  his 
Christmas  at  home.  ^This  was  a  happy  meeting.  The  rector 
had  written  an  essay  on  squirrels,  and  showed  them  a  glass 
containing  that  sportive  little  animal  in  all  its  frolic  forms. 
Farmer  Thornberry  had  ordered  a  path  to  be  cleared  on  the 
green  from  the  Hall  to  the  rectory;  and  "  that  is  all," said  Mrs. 
Penruddock,  "  we  have  to  walk  upon,  except  the  high-road. 
The  snow  has  drifted  to  such  a  degree  that  it  is  impossible  to 
get  to  the  Chase.  I  went  out  the  day  before  yesterday  with 
Carlo  as  a  guide.  When  I  did  not  clearly  make  out  my  way, 
I  sent  him  forward,  and  sometimes  I  could  only  see  his  black 
head  emerging  from  the  snow.     So  I  had  to  retreat." 

Mrs.  Ferrars  did  not  appear  this  day.  Endymion  visited 
her  in  her  room.  He  found  her  flighty  and  incoherent.  She 
seemed  to  think  that  he  had  returned  permanently  to  Hurstley, 
and  said  she  never  had  any  good  opinion  of  the  scheme  of  his 
leaving  them.  If  it  had  been  the  Foreign  Ofl^ce,  as  was 
promised,  and  his  father  had  been  in  the  cabinet,  which  was  his 
right,  it  might  have  been  all  very  well.  But,  if  he  were  to 
leave  home,  he  ought  to  have  gone  into  the  Guards,  and  it  was 
not  too  late.  And  then  they  might  live  in  a  small  house  in 
town,  and  look  after  him.  There  were  small  houses  in  Wilton 
Crescent,  which  would  do  very  well.  Besides,  she  herself 
wanted  change  of  air.  Hurstley  did  not  agree  with  her.  She 
had  no  appetite.  She  never  was  well  except  m  London  or 
Wimbledon.  She  wished  that,  as  Endymion  was  here,  he 
would  speak  to  his  father  on  the  subject.     She  saw  no  reason 


100  ENDTMION. 

why  they  should  not  live  at  their  place  at  Wimbledon  as  well 
as  here.  It  was  not  so  large  a  house,  and,  therefore,  would  not 
be  so  expensive. 

Endymion's  holiday  was  only  to  last  a  Week,  and  Myra 
seemed  jealous  of  his  sparing  any  portion  of  it  to  Nigel ;  yet 
the  rector's  son  was  sedulous  in  his  endeavors  to  enjoy  the  society 
of  his  former  companion.  There  seemed  some  reason  for  his 
calling  at  the  Hall  every  day.  Mr.  Ferrars  broke  through  his 
habits,  and  invited  Nigel  to  dine  with  them;  and  after  dinner, 
saying  that  he  would  visit  Mrs.  Ferrars,  who  was  unwell,  left 
them  alone.  It  was  the  only  time  they  had  yet  been  alone. 
Endymion  found  that  there  was  no  change  in  the  feelings  and 
views  of  Nigel  respecting  Church  matters,  except  that  his  sen- 
timents and  opinions  were  more  assured,  and,  if  possible,  more 
advanced.  He  would  not  tolerate  any  reference  to  the  state  of 
the  nation;  it  was  the  state  of  the  Church  which  engrossed 
his  being.  No  government  was  endurable  that  was  not  divine. 
The  Church  was  divine,  and  on  that  he  took  his  stand. 

Nigel  was  to  take  his  degree  next  term,  and  orders  as  soon 
as  possible.  He  looked  forward  with  confidence,  after  doubtless 
a  period  of  disturbance,  confusion,  probably  violence,  and 
even  anarchy,  to  the  establishment  of  an  ecclesiastical  polity, 
that  would  be  catholic  throughout  the  realm.  Endymion  just 
intimated  the  very  contrary  opinions  that  Jawett  held  upon 
these  matters,  and  mentioned,  though  not  as  an  adherent, 
some  of  the  cosmopolitan  sentiments  of  Waldershare. 

"  The  Church  is  cosmopolitan,"  said  Nigel;  "  the  only  prac- 
tical means  by  which  you  can  attain  to  identity  of  motive  and 
action." 

Then  they  rejoined  Myra,  but  Nigel  soon  recurred  to  the 
absorbing  theme.  His  powers  had  much  developed  since  he 
and  Endymion  used  to  wander  together  over  Hurstley  Chase. 
He  had  great  eloquence,  his  views  were  startling  and  com- 
manding, and  his  expressions  forcible  and  picturesque.  All 
were  heightened,  too,  by  his  striking  personal  appearance  and 
the  beauty  of  his  voice.  He  seemed  something  between  a 
young  prophet  and  an  inquisitor;  a  remarkable  blending  of 
enthusiasm  and  self-control. 

A  person  more  experienced  in  human  nature  than  Endy- 
mion, might  have  observed  that  all  this  time,  while  Nigel  was 
to  all  appearances  chiefly  addressing  himself  to  Endymion,  he 
was,  in  fact,  endeavoring  to  impress  his  sister.  Endymion 
knew,  from  the  correspondence  of  Myra,  that  Nigel  had  been, 


END  r MI  ON.  loi 

especially  In  the  summer,  much  at  Hurstley;  and  when  he 
was  alone  with  his  sister,  he  could  not  help  remarking, "  Nigel 
is  as  strong  as  ever  in  his  views." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied ;  "  he  is  very  clever  and  very  good-look- 
ing. It  is  a  pity  he  is  going  into  the  Church.  I  do  not  like 
clergymen." 

On  the  third  day  of  the  visit,  Mrs.  Ferrars  was  announced 
to  be  unwell,  and  in  the  evening  very  unwell;  and  Mr.  Ferrars 
sent  to  the  nearest  medical  man,  and  he  was  distant,  to  attend 
her.  The  medical  man  did  not  arrive  until  past  midnight,  and, 
after  visiting  his  patient,  looked  grave.  She  had  fever,  but  of 
what  character  it  was  difficult  to  decide.  The  medical  man 
had  brought  some  remedies  with  him,  and  he  stayed  the  night 
at  the  Hall.  It  was  a  night  of  anxiety  and  alarm,  and  the 
household  did  not  retire  until  nearly  the  break  of  dawn. 

The  next  day  it  seemed  that  the  whole  of  the  Penruddock 
family  were  in  the  house.  Mrs.  Penruddock  insisted  on  nurs- 
ing Mrs.  Ferrars,  and  her  husband  looked  as  if  he  thought  he 
might  be  wanted.  It  was  unreasonable  that  Nigel  should  be 
left  alone.  His  presence,  always  pleasing,  was  a  relief  to  an 
anxious  family,  and  who  were  beginnnig  to  get  alarmed.  The 
fever  did  not  subside.  On  the  contrary,  it  increased,  and  there 
were  other  dangerous  symptoms.  There  was  a  physician  of 
fame  at  Oxford,  whom  Nigel  wished  they  would  call  in.  Mat- 
ters were  too  pressing  to  wait  for  posts,  and  too  complicated  to 
trust  to  an  ordinary  messenger.  Nigel,  who  was  always  well 
mounted,  was  in  his  saddle  in  an  instant.  He  seemed  to  be  all 
resource,  consolation,  and  energy :  "  If  I  am  fortunate,  he  will 
be  here  in  four  hours;  at  all  events,  I  will  not  return  alone." 

Four  terrible  hours  were  these:  Mr.  Ferrars  restless  and 
sad,  and  listening  with  a  vacant  or  an  absent  look  to  the  kind 
and  unceasing  talk  of  the  rector;  Myra,  silent  in  her  mother's 
chamber;  and  Endymion  wandering  about  alone  with  his  eyes 
full  of  tears.  This  was  the  merry  Christmas  he*  had  talked 
of,  and  this  his  long-looked  for  holiday.  He  could  think  of 
nothing  but  his  mother's  kindness;  and  the  days  gone  by, 
when  she  was  so  bright  and  happy,  came  back  to  him  with 
painful  vividness.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  belonged  to  a 
doomed  and  unhappy  family.  Youth  and  its  unconscious 
mood  had  hitherto  driven  this  thought  from  his  mind,  but  it 
occurred  to  him  now,  and  would  not  be  driven  away. 

Nigel  was  fortunate.  Before  sunset  he  returned  to  Hurstley 
in  a  post-chaise  with  the  Oxford  physician,  whom  he  had  fur- 


102  ENDTMION. 

nished  with  an  able  and  accurate  diagnosis  of  the  case.  All 
that  art  could  devise,  and  all  that  devotion  could  suggest,  were 
lavished  on  the  sufferer,  but  in  vain ;  and  four  days  afterwards, 
the  last  day  of  Endymion's  long-awaited  holiday,  Mr.  Ferrars 
closed  forever  the  eyes  of  that  brilliant  being,  who,  with  some 
weaknesses,  but  many  noble  qualities,  had  shared  with  no  un- 
equal spirit  the  splendor  and  the  adversity  of  his  existence. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Nigel  took  a  high  degree  and  obtained  first-class  honors. 
He  was  ordained  by  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  as  soon  after 
as  possible.  His  companions,  who  looked  up  to  him  with  ev- 
ery expectation  of  his  eminence  and  influence,  were  disap- 
pointed, however,  in  the  course  of  life  on  which  he  decided. 
It  was  different  from  that  which  he  had  led  them  to  suppose  it 
would  be.  They  had  counted  upon  his  becoming  a  resident 
light  of  the  university,  filling  its  highest  offices,  and  ultimately 
reaching  the  loftiest  stations  in  the  Church.  Instead  of  that, 
he  announced  that  he  had  resolved  to  become  a  curate  to 
his  father,  and  that  he  was  about  to  bury  himself  in  the  soli- 
tude of  Hurstley. 

It  was  in  the  early  summer  following  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Ferrars  that  he  settled  there.  He  was  frequently  at  the  Hall, 
became  intimate  with  Mr.  Ferrars.  Notwithstanding  the  dif- 
ference of  age,  there  was  between  them  a  sympathy  of  knowl- 
edge and  thought.  In  spite  of  his  decided  mind,  Nigel 
listened  to  Mr.  Ferrars  with  deference,  soliciting  his  judgment, 
and  hanging,  as  it  were,  on  his  accents  of  wise  experience  and 
refined  taste.  So  Nigel  became  a  favorite  with  Mr.  Ferrars; 
for  there  are  few  things  more  flattering  than  the  graceful  sub- 
mission of  an  accomplished  intellect,  and,  when  accompanied 
by  youth,  the  spell  is  sometimes  fascinating. 

The  death  of  his  wife  seemed  to  have  been  a  great  blow  to 
Mr.  Ferrars.  The«expression  of  his  careworn,  yet  still  hand- 
some, countenance  became,  if  possible,  more  saddened.  It 
was  with  difficulty  that  his  daughter  could  induce  him  to  take 
exercise,  and  he  had  lost  altogether  that  seeming  interest  in 
their  outer  world  which  once  at  least  he  affected  to  feel.  Myra, 
though  ever  content  to  be  alone,  had  given  up  herself  much  to 
her  father  since  his  great  sorrow;  but  she  felt  that  her  efforts 
to  distract  -him  from  his  broodings  were  not  eminently  success- 


ENDTMION.  103 

ful,  and  she  hailed  with  a  feeling  of  relief  the  establishment  of 
Nigel  in  the  parish,  and  the  consequent  intimacy  that  arose 
between  him  and  her  father. 

Nigel  and  Myra  were  necessarily  under  these  circumstances 
thrown  much  together.  As  time  advanced,  he  passed  his  even- 
ings generally  at  the  Hall,  for  he  was  a  proficient  in  the  only 
game  which  interested  Mr.  Ferrars,  and  that  was  chess. 
Reading  and  writing  all  day,  Mr.  Ferrars  required  some  remis- 
sion of  attention,  and  his  relaxation  was  chess.  Before  the 
games,  and  between  the  games,  and  during  delightful  tea- 
time,  and  for  the  happy  quarter  of  an  hour  which  ensued  when 
the  chief  employment  of  the  evening  ceased,  Nigel  appealed 
much  to  Myra,  and  endeavored  to  draw  out  her  mind  and  feel- 
ings. He  lent  her  books,  and  books  that  favored,  indirectly  at 
least,  his  own  peculiar  views — volumes  of  divine  poesy  that 
had  none  of  the  twang  of  psalmody,  tales  of  tender  and  some- 
times wild  and  brilliant  fancy,  but  ever  full  of  symbolic  truth. 

Chess-playing  requires  complete  abst4"action,  and  Nigel, 
though  he  was  a  double-first,  occasionlly  lost  a  game  from  a 
lapse  in  that  condensed  attention  that  secures  triumph.  The 
fact  is,  he  was  too  frequently  thinking  of  something  else  be- 
sides the  moves  on  the  board,  and  his  ear  was  engaged  while 
his  eye  wandered,  if  Myra  chanced  to  rise  from  her  seat  or 
make  the  slightest  observation. 

The  woods  were  beginning  to  assume  the  first  fair  livery  of 
autumn,  when  it  is  beautiful  without  decay.  The  lime  and 
the  larch  had  not  yet  dropped  a  golden  leaf,  and  the  burnished 
beeches  flamed  in  the  sun.  Every  now  and  then  an  occasional 
oak  or  elm  rose,  still  as  full  of  deep  green  foliage  as  if  it  were 
midsummer;  while  the  dark  verdure  of  the  pines  sprang  up 
with  effective  contrast  amid  the  gleaming  and  resplendent 
chestnuts. 

There  was  a  glade  at  Hurstley  bounded  on  each  side  with 
masses  of  yew,  their  dark  green  forms  now  studded  with 
crimson  berries.  Myra  was  walking  one  morning  in  this  glade 
when  she  met  Nigel,  who  was  on  one  of  his  daily  pil- 
grimages, and  he  turned  round  and  walked  by  her  side. 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  give  you  news  of  your  brother,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  have  had  a  letter  this  morning  from  Endymion. 
He  seems  to  take  great  interest  in  his  debating-club." 

"  I  am  so  glad  he  has  become  a  member  of  it,"  said  Myra. 
"  That  kind  Mr.  Trenchard,  whom  I  shall  never  see  to  thank 
him  for  all  his  goodness  to  Endymion,  proposed  him.     It  oc- 


104  ENDTMION, 

cupies  his  evenings  twice  a  week,  and  then  it  gives  him  sub- 
jects to  think  of  and  read  up  in  the  interval." 

"  Yes;  it  is  a  good  thing,"  said  Nigel,  moodily;  "  and  if  he 
is  destined  for  public  life,  which  perhaps  he  may  be,  no  con- 
temptible discipline." 

"  Dear  boy !"  said  Myra,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  do  not  see  what 
public  life  he  is  destined  to,  except  slaving  at  a  desk.  But 
sometimes  one  has  dreams." 

"Yes;  we  all  have  dreams,"  said  Nigel,  with  an  air  of 
abstraction. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  resist  the  fascination  of  a  fine  autumnal 
morn,"  said  Myra;  "  but  give  me  the  long  days  of  summer  and 
its  rich  leafy  joys.  I  like  to  wander  about,  and  dine  at  nine 
o'clock." 

"  Delightful,  doubtless,  with  a  sympathising  companion." 

"  Endymion  was  such  a  charming  companion,"  said  Myra. 

"  But  he  has  left  us,"  said  Nigel,  "  and  you  are  alone.'' 

"I  am  alone,"  said  Myra;  "  but  I  am  used  to  solitude,  and  I 
can  think  of  him." 

"  Would  I  were  Endymion,"  said  Nigel,  "  to  be  thought  of 
by  you." 

Myra  looked  at  him  with  something  of  a  stare:  but  he 
continued : 

"  All  seasons  would  be  to  me  fascination,  were  I  only  by 
your  side.  Yes;  I  can  no  longer  repress  the  irresistible  con- 
fession of  my  love.  I  am  here^  and  I  am  here  only,  because  I 
love  you.  I  quitted  Oxford  and  all  its  pride  that  I  might  have 
the  occasional  delight  of  being  your  companion.  I  was  not 
presumptuous  in  my  thoughts,  and  believed  that  would  con- 
tent me;  but  I  can  no  longer  resist  the  consummate  spell,  and 
I  offer  you  my  heart  and  my  life." 

"I  am  amazed;  I  am  a  little  overwhelmed,"  said  Myra. 
"  Pardon  me,  dear  Mr.  Penruddock — dear  Nigel — you  speak 
of  things  of  which  I  have  not  thought." 

"Think  of  them!  I  implore  you  to  think  of  them,  and 
now! " 

"  We  are  a  fallen  family,"  said  Myra,  "  perhaps  a  doomed 
one.  We  are  not  people  to  connect  yourself  with.  You  have 
witnessed  some  of  our  sorrows,  and  soothed  them.  I  shall  be 
ever  grateful  to  you  for  the  past.  But  I  sometimes  feel  our 
cup  is  not  yet  full,  and  I  have  long  resolved  to  bear  my  cross 
alone.  But,  irrespective  of  all  other  considerations,  I  can  never 
leave  my  father." 


END  r MI  ON.  105 

"  I  have  spoKcn  to  your  father,"  said  Nigel,  "  and  he  ap- 
proved my  suit." 

"While  my  father  lives  I  shall  not  quit  him,"  said  Myra; 
"  but,  let  me  not  mislead  you,  I  do  not  live  for  my  father — I  live 
for  another." 

"  For  another?"  inquired  Nigel,  with  anxiety. 

"  For  one  you  know.  My  life  is  devoted  to  Endymion. 
There  is  a  mystic  bond  between  us,  originating,  perhaps,  in 
the  circumstance  of  our  birth;  for  we  are  twins.  I  never 
mean  to  embarrass  him  with  a  sister's  love,  and  perhaps  here- 
after may  see  less  of  him,  even  than  I  see  now;  but  I  shall  be 
in  the  world,  whatever  be  my  lot,  high  or  low — the  active, 
stirring  world — working  for  him,  thinking  alone  of  him. 
Yes;  moulding  events  and  circumstances  in  his  favor;"  and 
she  spoke  with  fiery  animation.  "  I  have  brought  myself,  by 
long  meditation,  to  the  conviction  that  a  human  being  with  a 
settled  purpose  must  accomplish  it,  and  that  nothing  can  resist 
a  will  that  will  stake  even  existence  for  its  fulfilment." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Endymion  had  returned  to  his  labors,  after  the  death  of  his 
mother,  much  dispirited.  Though  young  and  hopeful,  his 
tender  heart  could  not  be  insensible  to  the  tragic  end.  There 
is  anguish  in  the  recollection  that  we  have  not  adequately  ap- 
preciated the  affection  of  those  whom  we  have  loved  and  lost. 
It  tortured  him  to  feel  that  he  had  often  accepted  with  careless- 
ness or  indifference  the  homage  of  a  heart  that  had  been  to 
him  ever  faithful  in  its  multiplied  devotion.  Then,  though  he 
was  not  of  a  melancholy  or  brooding  nature,  in  this  moment 
of  bereavement  he  could  not  drive  from  his  mind  the  con- 
sciousness that  there  had  long  been  hanging  over  his  home  a 
dark  lot,  as  it  were,  of  progressive  adversity.  His  family 
seemed  always  sinking,  and  he  felt  conscious  how  the  san- 
quine  spirit  of  his  mother  had  sustained  them  in  their  trials. 
His  father  had  already  made  him  the  depositary  of  his  hope- 
less cares;  and  if  anything  happened  to  that  father,  old  and 
worn  out  before  his  time,  what  would  become  of  Myra? 

Nigel,  who  in  their  great  calamity  seemed  to  have  thought 
of  everything,  and  to  have  done  everything,  had  written  to  the 
chief  of  the  office,  and  also  to  Mr.  Trenchard,  explaining  the 
cause  of  the  abscence  of  Endymion   from  his  duties.     There 


io6  ENDTMION. 

were  no  explanations,  therefore,  necessary  when  he  reappeared ; 
no  complaints,  but  only  sympathy  and  general  kindness.  In 
Warwick  Street  there  was  unaffected  sorrow ;  Sylvia  wept  and 
went  into  the  prettiest  mourning  for  her  patroness,  and  Mr. 
Rodney  wore  a  crape  on  his  hat.  "  I  never  saw  her,"  said  Im- 
ogene,  "  but  I  am  told  she  was  heavenly." 

Waldershare  was  very  kind  to  Endymion,  and  used  to  take 
him  to  the  House  of  Commons  on  interesting  evenings,  and, 
if  he  succeeded  in  getting  Endymion  a  place  under  the  gallery, 
would  come  and  talk  to  him  in  the  course  of  the  night,  and 
sometimes  introduce  him  to  the  mysteries  of  Bellamy's,  where 
Endymion  had  the  satisfaction  of  partaking  of  a  steak  in  the 
presence  of  statesmen  and  senators. 

"  You  are  in  the  precincts  of  public  life,"  said  Waldershare ; 
"  and  if  you  ever  enter  it,  which  I  think  you  will,"  he  would 
add  thoughtfully,  "  it  will  be  interesting  for  you  to  remember 
that  you  have  seen  these  characters,  many  of  whom  will  then 
have  passed  away, '  Like  the  shades  of  a  magic  lantern,'  "  he 
added,  with  something  between  a  sigh  and  a  smile.  "  One  of 
my  constituents  sent  me  a  homily  this  morning,  the  burden  of 
which  was,  I  never  thought  of  death.  The  idiot!  I  never 
think  of  anything  else.  It  is  my  weakness.  One  should 
never  think  of  death.  One  should  think  of  life.  That  is  real 
piety." 

This  spring  and  summer  were  passed  tranquilly  by  Endym- 
ion, but  not  unprofitably.  He  never  went  to  any  place  of 
public  amusement,  and  cherishing  his  sorrow,  declined  those 
slight  openings  to  social  life  which  occasionally  offered  them- 
selves even  to  him;  but  he  attended  his  debating-club  with 
regularity,  and,  though  silent,  studied  every  subject  which  was 
brought  before  it.  It  interested  him  to  compare  their  sayings 
and  doings  with  those  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  he 
found  advantage  in  the  critical  comparison.  Though  not  in 
what  is  styled  society,  his  mind  did  not  rust  from  the  want  of 
intelligent  companions.  The  clear  perception,  accurate 
knowledge,  and  unerring  judgment  of  Trenchard,  the  fantas- 
tic cynicism  of  St.  Barbe,  and  all  the  stores  of  the  exuberant 
and  imaginative  Waldershare  were  brought  to  bear  on  a  young 
and  plastic  intelligence,  gifted  with  a  quick  though  not  a  too 
profound  sensibility  which  soon  ripened  into  tact,  and  which, 
after  due  discrimination,  was  tenacious  of  beneficial  impressions. 

In  the  autumn,  Endymion  returned  home  for  a  long  visit 
and  a  happy  one,     He  found  Nigel  settled  at  Hurstley,  and 


END  r MI  ON.  107 

almost  domesticated  at  the  Hall;  his  father  more  cheerful  than 
his  sister's  earlier  letters  had  led  him  to  suppose ;  and  she  her- 
self so  delighted  by  the  constant  companionship  of  her  brother 
that  she  seemed  to  have  resumed  all  her  original  pride  of  life. 

Nearly  two  years'  acquaintance,  however  limited,  with  the 
world  had  already  exercised  a  ripening  influence  overEndym- 
ion.  Nigel  soon  perceived  this,  though,  with  a  native  tact 
which  circumstances  had  developed,  Endymion  avoided 
obtruding  his  new  conclusions  upon  his  former  instructor.  But 
that  deep  and  eager  spirit,  unwilling  ever  to  let  a  votary  escape, 
and  absorbed  intellectually  by  one  vast  idea,  would  not  be 
baffled.  Nigel  had  not  renounced  the  early  view  of  Endymion 
taking  orders,  and  spoke  of  his  London  life  as  an  incident 
which,  with  his  youth,  he  might  in  time  only  look  upon  as  an 
episode  in  his  existence. 

"  I  trust  I  shall  ever  be  a  devoted  son  of  the  Church,"  said 
Endymion  ;  "  but  I  confess  I  feel  no  predisposition  to  take 
orders,  even  if  I  had  the  opportunity,  which  probably  I  never 
shall  have.  If  I  were  to  choose  my  career,  it  would  be  public 
life.  I  am  on  the  last  step  of  the  ladder,  and  I  do  not  suppose 
that  I  can  ever  be  anything  but  a  drudge.  But  even  that 
would  interest  me.  It  brings  one  in  contact  with  those  who 
are  playing  the  great  game.  One  at  least  fancies  one  compre- 
hends something  of  the  government  of  mankind.  Mr.  Walder- 
share  takes  me  often  to  the  House  of  Commons,  and,  I  must 
say,  I  am  passionately  fond  of  it." 

After  Endymion's  return  to  London  that  scene  occurred  be- 
tween Nigel  and  Myra,  in  the  glade  at  Hurstley,  which  we 
have  noticed  in  the  preceding  chapter.  In  the  evening  of  that 
day  Nigel  did  not  pay  his  accustomed  visit  to  the  Hall,  and  the 
fother  and  the  daughter  were  alone.  Then  it  was,  notwith- 
standing evident  agitation,  and  even  with  some  degree  of  sol- 
emnity, that  Mr.  Ferrars  broke  to  his  daughter  that  there  was 
a  subject  on  which  he  wished  seriously  to  confer  with  her. 

"  Is  it  about  Nigel  ?"  she  inquired  with  calmness. 

"  It  is  about  Nigel."    ' 

"  I  have  seen  him,  and  he  has  spoken  to  me." 

"  And  what  have  you  replied  ?" 

"  What  I  fear  will  not  be  satisfactory  to  you,  sir,  but  what  is 
irrevocable." 

"  Your  union  would  give  me  life  and  hope,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars ; 
and  then,  as  she  remained  silent,  he  continued  after  a  pause: 
''  For  its  happiness  there  seems  every  security.     He  is  of  good 


io8  END  r MI  ON. 

family,  and  with  adequate  means,  and,  I  firmly  believe,  no  in- 
considerable future.  His  abilities  are  already  recognized;  his 
disposition  is  noble.  As  for  his  personal  qualities,  you  are  a 
fitter  judge  than  I  am;  but,  for  my  part,  I  never  saw  a  counten- 
ance that  more  became  the  beauty  and  nobility  of  his  char- 
acter." 

"  I  think  him  very  good-looking,"  said  Myra,  "  and  there  is 
no  doubt  he  is  clever,  and  he  has  shown  himself,  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  amiable." 

"  Then  what  more  can  you  require?"  said  Mr.  Ferrars. 

"  I  require  nothing;  I  do  not  wish  to  marry." 

"  But  my  daughter,  my  dearest  daughter,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars, 
"  bear  with  the  anxiety  of  a  parent  who  is  at  least  devoted  to 
you.  Our  separation  would  be  my  last  and  severest  sorrow, 
and  I  have  had  many;  but  there  is  no  necessity  to  consider 
that  case,  for  Nigel  is  content,  is  more  than  content,  to  live  as 
your  husband  under  this  roof." 

"  So  he  told  me." 

"  And  that  removed  one  objection  that  you  might  naturally 
feel?" 

"  I  certainly  should  never  leave  you,  sir,"  said  Myra,  "  and  I 
told  Nigel  so;  but  that  contingency  had  nothing  to  do  with 
my  decision.  I  declined  his  offer,  because  I  have  no  wish  to 
marry." 

"  Women  are  born  to  be  married,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars. 

"  And  yet  I  believe  most  marriages  are  unhappy,"  said 
Myra. 

"Oh!  if  your  objection  to  marry  Nigel  arises  from  an  ab- 
stract objection  to  marriage  itself,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars,  "  it  is  a 
subject  which  we  might  talk  over  calmly,  and  perhaps  remove 
your  prejudices." 

"  I  have  no  prejudices  against  marriage,"  replied  Myra.  It 
is  likely  enough  that  I  may  marry  some  day,  and  probably 
make  an  unhappy  marriage;  but  that  is  not  the  question  before 
us.  It  is  whether  I  should  marry  Nigel.  That  cannot  be,  my 
dear  father,  and  he  knows  it.  I  have  assured  him  so  in  a  man- 
ner which  cannot  be  mistaken." 

"We  arc  a  doomed  ftimily!"  exclaimed  the  unhappy  Mr. 
Ferrars,  clasping  his  hands. 

"So  I  have  long  felt,"  said  Myra.  "I  can  bear  our  lot; 
but  I  want  no  strangers  to  be  introduced  to  share  its  bitterness, 
and  soothe  us  with  their  sympathy." 

"  You  speak  like  a  girl,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars,  "  and  a  head' 


END  r MI  ON.  10^ 

strong  girl,  which  you  always  have  been.  You  know  not 
what  you  are  talking  about.  It  is  a  matter  of  life  or  death. 
Your  decorous  marriage  would  have  saved  us  from  absolute 
ruin." 

"  Alone  I  can  meet  absolute  ruin,"  said  Myra.  "  I  have 
long  contemplated  such  a  contingency,  and  am  prepared  for  it. 
My  marriage  with  Nigel  could  hardly  save  you,  sir,  from  such 
a  visitation,  if  it  be  impending.  But  I  trust  in  that  respect,  if 
in  no  other,  you  have  used  a  little  of  the  language  of  exaggera- 
tion. I  have  never  received,  and  I  have  never  presumed  to 
seek,  any  knowledge  of  your  affairs;  but  I  have  assumed  that, 
for  your  life,  somehow  or  other,  you  would  be  permitted  to 
exist  without  disgrace.  If  I  survive  you,  I  have  neither  care 
nor  fear." 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

In  the  following  spring  a  vexatious  incident  occurred  in 
Warwick  Street.  The  highly  considered  county  member, 
who  was  the  yearly  tenant  of  Mr.  Rodney's  first  floor,  and  had 
been  always  a  valuable  patron,  suddenly  died.  An  adjourned 
debate,  a  tough  beefsteak,  a  select  committee  still  harder,  and 
an  influenza  caught  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  an 
imprudent  but  irresistible  walk  home  with  a  confidential  Lord 
of  the  Treasury,  had  combined  very  sensibly  to  affect  the 
income  of  Mr.  Rodney.  At  first  he  was  sanguine  that  such  a 
desirable  dwelling  would  soon  find  a  suitable  inhabitant, 
especially  as  Mr.  Waldershare  assured  him  that  he  would 
mention  the  matter  to  his  friends.  But  time  rolled  on,  and 
the  rooms  were  still  vacant;  and  the  fastidious  Rodneys,  who 
at  first  would  only  listen  to  a  yearly  tenant,  began  to  reduce 
their  expectations.  Matters  had  arrived  at  such  a  pass  in  May, 
that,  for  the  first  time  in  their  experience,  they  actually  con- 
descended to  hoist  an  announcement  of  furnished  apartments. 

In  this  state  of  affairs  a  cab  rattled  up  to  the  house  one  morn- 
ing, out  of  which  a  young  gentleman  jumped  briskly,  and, 
knocking  at  the  door,  asked  of  the  servant  who  opened  it 
whether  he  might  see  the  apartments.  He  was  a  young  man, 
apparently  not  more  than  one  or  two  and  twenty,  of  a  graceful 
figure,  somewhat  above  the  middle  height,  fair,  with  a  counten- 
ance not  absolutely  regular,  but  calm  and  high-bred.  His  dress 
was  in  the  best  taste,  but  to  a  practised  eye  had  something  of 
a  foreign  cut;  and  he  wore  a  slight  mustache. 


»    no  END  r MI  ON, 

"  The  rooms  will  suit  me,"  he  said,  "  and  I  have  no  doubt 
the  price  you  ask  for  them  is  a  just  one;"  and  he  bowed  with  a 
high  bred  courtesy  to  Sylvia,  who  was  now  in  attendance  on 
him,  and  who  stood  with  her  pretty  hands  in  the  pretty  pockets 
of  her  pretty  apron. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Sylvia.  "  We  have  never  let 
them  before,  except  to  a  yearly  tenant." 

"  And  if  we  suit  each  other,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  I  should 
have  no  great  objection  to  become  such." 

"  In  these  matters,"  said  Sylvia,  after  a  little  hesitation,  "  we 
give  and  receive  references.  Mr.  Rodney  is  well-known  in 
this  neighborhood  and  in  Westminster  generally;  but  I  dare 
say,"  she  adroitly  added,  "  he  has  many  acquaintances  known 
to  you,  sir." 

"  Not  very  likely,"  replied  the  young  gentleman ;  "  for  I  am 
a  foreigner,  and  only  arrived  in  England  this  morning;"  though 
he  spoke  English  without  the  slightest  accent. 

Sylvia  looked  a  little  perplexed ;  but  he  continued :  "  It  is 
quite  just  that  you  should  be  assured  to  whom  you  are  letting 
your  lodgings.  The  only  reference  I  can  give  you  is  to  my 
banker,  but  he  is  almost  too  great  a  man  for  such  matters. 
Perhaps,"  he  added,  pulling  out  a  case  from  his  breast-pocket, 
and  taking  out  of  it  a  note,  which  he  handed  to  Sylvia,  "this 
may  assure  you  that  your  rent  will  be  paid." 

Sylvia  took  a  rapid  glance  at  the  hundred-pound  note,  and 
twisting  it  into  her  little  pocket  with  apparent  sangfroid^ 
though  she  held  it  with  a  tight  grasp,  murmured  that  it  was 
quite  unnecessary,  and  then  offered  to  give  her  new  lodger  an 
acknowledgment  of  it. 

"  That  is  really  unnecessary,"  he  replied.  "  Your  appear- 
ance commands  from  me  that  entire  confidence  which  on  your 
part  you  very  properly  refuse  to  a  stranger  and  a  foreigner, 
like  myself." 

"  What  a  charming  young  man!"  thought  Sylvia,  pressing 
with  emotion  her  hundred-pound  note. 

"  Now,"  continued  the  young  gentleman,  "  I  will  return  to 
the  station  to  release  my  servant,  who  is  a  prisoner  there  with 
my  luggage.  Be  pleased  to  make  him  at  home.  I  shall  my- 
self not  return  probably  till  the  evening;  and  in  the  meantime," 
he  added,  giving  Sylvia  his  card,  "  you  will  admit  anything 
that  arrives  here  addressed  to  Col.  Albert." 

The  settlement  of  Col.  Albert  in  Warwick  Street  was  an 
event  of  no  slight  importance.     It  superseded  for  a  time  all 


ENDTMIQJSr,  III 

other  topics  of  conversation,  and  was  discussed  at  lengt«h  in  the 
evenings,  especially  with  Mr.  Vigo.  Who  was  he  ?  And  in 
what  service  was  he  colonel?  Mr.  Rodney,  like  a  man  of  the 
world,  assumed  that  all  necessary  information  would  in  time  be 
obtained  from  the  colonel's  servant;  but  even  men  of  the 
world  sometimes  miscalculate.  The  servant,  who  was  a  Bel- 
gian, had  only  been  engaged  by  the  colonel  at  Brussels  a  few 
days  before  his  departure  for  England,  and  absolutely  knew 
nothing  of  his  master,  except  that  he  was  a  gentleman  with 
plenty  of  money  and  sufficient  luggage.  Sylvia,  who  was  the 
only  person  who  had  seen  the  colonel,  was  strongly  in  his 
favor.  Mr.  Rodney  looked  doubtful,  and  avoided  any  definite 
opinion  until  he  had  had  the  advantage  of  an  interview  with 
his  new  lodger.  But  this  was  not  easy  to  obtain.  Colonel 
Albert  had  no  wish  to  see  the' master  of  the  house,  and,  if  he 
ever  had  that  desire,  his  servant  would  accordingly^  communi- 
cate it  in  the  proper  quarter.  At  present  he  was  satisfied  with 
all  the  arrangements,  and  wished  neither  to  make  nor  to  re- 
ceive remarks.  The  habits  of  the  new  lodger  were  somewhat 
those  of  a  recluse.  He  was  generally  engaged  in  his  rooms 
the  whole  day,  and  seldom  left  them  till  the  evening,  and 
nobody,  as  yet,  had  called  upon  him.  Under  these  circum- 
stances Imogene  was  instructed  to  open  the  matter  to  Mr. 
Waldershare  when  she  presided  over  his  breakfast-table;  and 
that  gentleman  said  he  would  make  inquiries  about  the  colonel 
at  the  Travellers'  Club,  where  Waldershare  passed  a  great 
deal  of  his  time.  "  If  he  be  anybody,"  said  Mr.  Waldershare, 
"  he  is  sure  in' time  to  be  known  there,  for  he  will  be  introduced 
as  a.  visitor."  At  present,  however,  it  turned  out  that  the 
"Travellers"  knew  nothing  of  Colonel  Albert;  and  time 
went  on  and  Colonel  Albert  was  not  introduced  as  a  visitor 
there. 

After  a  little  while  there  was  a  change  in  the  habits  of  the 
colonel.  One  morning,  about  noon,  a  groom,  extremely  well- 
appointed,  and  having  under  his  charge  a  couple  of  steeds  of 
breed  and  beauty,  called  at  Warwick  Street,  and  the  colonel 
rode  out,  and  was  long  absent;  and  after  that,  every  day,  and 
generally  at  the  same  hour,  mounted  his  horse.  Mr.  Rodney 
was  never  wearied  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  his  distinguished 
lodger  over  the  blinds  of  the  ground-floor  room,  and  of  ad- 
miring the  colonel's  commanding  presence  in  his  saddle,  dis- 
tinguished as  his  seat  was  alike  by  its  grace  and  vigor. 

in  the  course   of  a  little  time  another  incident  connected 


ri2  ENDTMION. 

with  the  colonel  occurred,  which  attracted  notice  and  excited 
interest.  Towards  the  evening  a  brougham,  marked,  but 
quietly,  with  a  foreign  coronet,  stopped  frequently  at  Mr. 
Rodney's  house,  and  a  visitor  to  the  colonel  appeared*  in  the 
form  of  a  middle-aged  gentleman  who  never  gave  his  name, 
and  evaded,  it  seemed,  with  practised  dexterity,  every  effort, 
however  adroit,  to  obtain  it.  The  valet  was  tried  on  this  head 
also,  and  replied  with  simplicity  that  he  did  not  know  the  gen- 
tleman's name,  but  he  was  always  called  the  baron. 

In  the  middle  of  June  a  packet  arrived  one  day  by  the 
coach,  from  the  rector  of  Hurstley,  addressed  to  Endymion, 
announcing  his  father's  dangerous  illness,  and  requesting  him 
instantly  to  repair  home.  Myra  was  too  much  occupied  to 
write  even  a  line. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

It  was  strange  that  Myra  did  not  write,  were  it  only  a  line. 
It  was  so  unlike  her.  How  often  this  occurred  to  Endymion 
during  his  wearisome  and  anxious  travel!  When  the  coach 
reached  Hurstley,  he  found  Mr.  Penruddock  waiting  for  him. 
Before  he  could  inquire  after  his  father,  that  gentleman  said, 
"  Myra  is  at  the  rectory;  you  are  to  come  on  there." 

"  And  my  father — " 

"  Matters  are  critical,"  said  Mr.  Penruddock,  as  it  were 
avoiding  a  direct  answer,  and  hastening  his  pace. 

It  was  literally  not  a  five  minutes'  walk  from  the  village  inn 
to  the  rectory,  and  they  walked  in  silence.  The  rector  took 
Endymion  at  once  into  his  study;  for  we  can  hardly  call  it  a 
library,  though  some  shelves  of  books  were  there,  and  many 
stuffed  birds. 

The  rector  closed  the  door  with  care,  and  looked  distressed ; 
and,  beckoning  to  Endymion  to  be  seated,  lie  said,  while  still 
standing  and  half  turning  away  his  head,  "  My  dear  boy,  pre- 
pare yourself  for  the  worst." 

"Ah!  he  is  gone,  then!  my  dear,  dear  father! "  and  Endym- 
ion burst  into  passionate  tears,  and  leaned  on  the  table,  his  face 
hid  in  his  hands. 

The  rector  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with  an  agitated 
countenance.  He  could  not  deny,  it  would  seem,  the  inference 
of  Endymion;  and  yet  he  did  not  proffer  those  consolations 
which  might  be  urged,  and  which  it  became  one  in  his  capacity 
peculiarly  to  urge. 


ENDTMION, 


"3 


"  I  must  sec  Myra,"  said  Endymion,  eagerly,  looking  up 
with  a  wild  air  and  streaming  eyes. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  the  rector;  "  she  is  much  disturbed.  Your 
poor  father  is  no  more;  it  is  too  true;  but,"  and  here  the  rector 
hesitated,  "  he  did  not  die  happily." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Endymion. 

"  Your  pooi-^father  had  much  to  try  him,"  said  the  rector. 
"  His  life,  since  he  was  among  us  here,  was  a  life,  for  him,  of 
adversity — perhaps  of  great  adversity — yet  he  bore  up  against 
it  with  a  Christian  spirit;  he  never  repined.  There  was  much 
that  was  noble  and  exalted  in  his  character.  But  he  never 
overcame  the  loss  of  your  dear  mother.  He  was  never  himself 
afterwards.  He  was  not  always  master  of  himself.  I  could 
bear  witness  to  that,"  said  the  rector,  talking,  as  it  were,  to 
himself.  "  Yes,  I  could  conscientiously  give  evidence  to  that 
effect—" 

"  What  effect  ?"  asked  Endymion,  with  a  painful  scrutiny. 

"  I  could  show,"  said  the  rector,  speaking  slowly,  and  in  a 
low  voice,  "  and  others  could  show,  that  he  was  not  master  of 
himself  when  he  committed  the  rash  act." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Penruddock !"  exclaimed  Endymion,  starting  from 
his  chair,  and  seizing  the  rector  by  his  arm.  "  What  is  all 
this?" 

"  That  a  great  sorrow  has  come  upon  you,  and  your  sister, 
and  all  of  us,"  said  Mr.  Penruddock;  "and  you,  and  she,  and 
all  of  us  must  bow  before  the  Divine  will  in  trembling,  though 
in  hope.     Your  father's  death  was  not  natural." 

Such  was  the  end  of  William  Pitt  Ferrars,  on  whom  nature, 
opportunity,  and  culture  appeared  to  have  showered  every 
advantage.  His  abilities  were  considerable,  his  ambition 
greater.  Though  intensely  worldly,  he  was  not  devoid  of 
affections.  He  found  refuge  in  suicide,  as  many  do,  from  want 
of  imagination.  The  present  was  too  hard  for  him,  and  his 
future  was  only  a  chaotic  nebula. 

Endymion  did  not  see  his  sister  that  evening.  She  was  not 
made  aware  of  his  arrival,  and  was  alone  with  Mrs.  Penrud- 
dock, who  never  left  her  night  or  day.  The  rector  took 
charge  of  her  brother,  and  had  a  sofa-bed  made  for  him  in  the 
kind  man's  room.  He  was  never  to  be  alone.  Never  the 
whole  night  did  poor  Endymion  close  his  eyes;  and  he  was 
almost  as  much  agitated  about  the  impending  interview  with 
Myra,  as  about  the  dark  event  of  terror  that  had  been  disclosed 
to  him. 


114  ENDTMION. 

Yet  that  dreaded  Interview  must  take  place;  and,  about  noon, 
the  rector  told  him  that  Myra  was  in  the  drawing-room  alone, 
and  would  receive  him.  He  tottered  as  he  crossed  the  hall; 
grief  and  physical  exertion  had  unmanned  him ;  his  eyes  were 
streaming  with  tears ;  he  paused  for  a  moment  with  his  hand 
upon  the  door;  he  dreaded  the  anguish  of  her  countenance. 

She  advanced  and  embraced  him  with  tenderness;  her  face 
was  grave,  but  not  a  tear  even  glistened. 

"  I  have  been  living  in  a  tragedy  for  years,"  said  Myra,  in  a 
low,  hollow  voice ;  "  and  the  catastrophe  has  now  arrived." 

"Oh,  my  dear  father!"  exclaimed  Endymion;  and  he  burst 
into  a  renewed  paroxysm  of  grief. 

"Yes;  he  was  dear  to  us,  and  we  were  dear  to  him,"  said 
Myra  ;  "  but  the  curtain  has  fallen.  We  have  to  exert  our- 
selves. Energy  and  self-control  were  never  more  necessary  to 
two  human  beings  than  to  us.  Here  are  his  keys;  his  papers 
must  be  examined  by  no  one  but  ourselves.  There  is  a  terrible 
ceremony  taking  place,  or  impending.  When  it  is  all  over,  we 
must  visit  the  Hall  at  least  once  more." 

The  whole  neighborhood  was  full  of  sorrow  for  the  event, 
and  of  sympathy  for  those  Itereft.  It  was  universally  agreed 
that  Mr.  Ferrars  had  never  recovered  the  death  of  his  wife; 
had  never  been  the  same  man  after  it;  had  become  destrait, 
absent,  wandering  in  his  mind,  and  the  victim  of  an  invincible 
melancholy.  Several  instances  were  given  of  his  inability  to 
manage  his  affairs.  The  jury,  with  Farmer  Thornberry  as 
foreman,  hesitated  not  in  giving  a  becoming  verdict.  In  those 
days  information  travelled  slowly.  There  were  no  railroads 
then,  and  no  telegraphs,  and  not  many  clubs.  A  week  elapsed 
before  the  sad  occurrence  was  chronicled  in  a  provincial  paper, 
and  another  week  before  the  report  was  reproduced  in  London, 
and  then  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  journal,  and  in  small  print. 
Everything  gets  about  at  last,  and  the  world  began  to  stare  and 
talk ;  but  it  passed  unnoticed  to  the  sufferers,  except  by  a  letter 
from  Zenobia,  received  at  Hurstley  after  Myra  had  departed  from 
her  kind  friends.  Zenobia  was  shocked,  nay,  overwhelmed, 
by  what  she  had  heard ;  wanted  to  know  if  she  could  be  of 
use;  offered  to  do  anything;  begged  Myra  to  come  and  stay 
with  her  in  St.  James's  Square;  and  assured  her  that,  if  that 
were  not  convenient,  when  her  mourning  was  over  Zenobia 
would  present  her  at  court,  just  the  same  as  if  she  were  her 
own  daughter. 

When  the  fatal  keys  were  used,  and  the  papers  of  Mr.  Fer. 


ENDTMION,  115 

rars  examined,  it  turned  out  worse  than  even  Myra,  in 
her  darkest  prescience,  had  anticipated.  Her  father  had  died 
absolutely  penniless.  As  executor  of  his  father,  the  funds  set- 
tled on  his  wife  had  remained  vmder  his  sole  control,  and  they 
had  entirely  disappeared.  There  was  a  letter  addressed  to 
Myra  on  this  subject.  She  read  it  with  a  pale  face,  said  noth- 
ing, and  without  showing  it  to  Endymion,  destroyed  it.  There 
was  to  be  an  immediate  sale  of  their  effects  at  the  Hall.  It 
was  calculated  that  the  expenses  of  the  funeral  and  all  the 
country  bills  might  be  defrayed  by  its  proceeds. 

"  And  there  will  be  enough  left  for  me,"  said  Myra.  "  I 
only  want  ten  pounds ;  for  I  have  ascertained  that  there  is  no 
part  of  England  where  ten  pounds  will  not  take  me." 

Endymion  sighed  and  nearly  wept  when  she  said  these 
things.     "  No,"  he  would  add ;  "  we  must  never  part." 

"  That  would  insure  our  common  ruin,"  said  Myra.  "  No; 
I  will  never  embarrass  you  with  a  sister.  You  can  only  just 
subsist;  for  you  could  not  well  live  in  a  garret,  except  at  the 
Rodneys'.  I  see  my  way,"  said  Myra ;  "  I  have  long  medita- 
ted over  this — I  can  draw,  I  can  sing,  I  can  speak  many 
tongues ;  I  ought  to  be  able  to  get  food  and  clothing ;  I  may 
get  something  more.  And  I  shall  always  be  content;  for  I 
shaU  always  be  thinking  of  you.  However  humble  even  my 
lot,  if  my  will  is  concentrated  on  one  purpose,  it  must  ulti- 
mately effect  it.  That  is  my  creed,"  she  said,  "  and  I  hold  it 
fervently.  1  will  stay  with  these  dear  people  for  a  little  while. 
They  are  not  exactly  the  family  on  which  I  ought  to  trespass. 
But  never  mind.  You  will  be  a  great  man  some  day,  Endy- 
mion, and  you  will  remember  the  good  Penruddocks." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  families  that  have  ever 
flourished  in  England  were  the  Neuchatels.  Their  founder 
was  a  Swiss,  who  had  established  a  banking-house  of  high 
repute  in  England  in  the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
and,  irrespective  of  a  powerful  domestic  connection,  had  in  time 
pretty  well  engrossed  the  largest  and  best  portion  of  the  for- 
eign banking  business.  When  the  great  French  Revolution 
occurred,  all  the  emigrants  deposited  their  jewels  and  their 
treasure  with  the  Neuchatels.  As  the  disturbances  spread,  their 
example  was  followed  by  the  alarmed  proprietors  and  capital- 


ii6  END  2  MI  ON, 

ists  of  the  rest  of  Europe;  and,  independently  of  their  own 
considerable  means,  the  Neuchatels  thus  had  the  command  for 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  more  or  less,  of  adventitious  millions. 
They  were  scrupulous  and  faithful  stewards;  but  they  were 
doubtless  repaid  for  their  vigilance,  their  anxiety,  and  often 
their  risk,  by  the  opportunities  which  these  rare  resources  per- 
mitted them  to  enjoy.  One  of  the  Neuchatels  was  a  favorite 
of  Mr.  Pitt,  and  assisted  the  great  statesman  in  his  vast  financial 
arrangements.  This  Neuchatel  was  a  man  of  large  capacity, 
and  thoroughly  understood  his  period.  The  minister  wished 
to  introduce  him  to  public  life,  would  have  opened  Parliament 
to  him,  and  no  doubt  have  showered  on  him  honors  and  titles. 
But  Neuchatel  declined  these  overtures.  He  was  one  of  those 
strong  minds  who  will  concentrate  their  energies  on  one  object; 
without  personal  vanity,  but  with  a  deep-seated  pride  in  the 
future.  He  was  always  preparing  for  his  posterity.  Gov- 
erned by  this  passion,  although  he  himself  would  have  been 
content  to  live  forever  in  Bishopsgate  Street,  where  he  was 
born,  he  had  become  possessed  of  a  vast  principality,  which, 
strange  to  say,  with  every  advantage  of  splendor  and  natural 
beauty,  was  not  an  hour's  drive  from  Whitechapel. 

Hainault  House  had  been  raised  by  a  British  peer  in  the  days 
when  nobles  were  fond  of  building  Palladian  palaces.  It  was 
a  chief  work  of  Sir  William  Chambers,  and  in  its  style,  its 
beauty,  and  almost  in  its  dimensions,  was  a  rival  of  Stowe  or 
Wanstead.  It  stood  in  a  deer-park,  and  was  surrounded  by  a 
royal  forest.  The  family  that  had  raised  it  wore  out  in  the 
earlier  part  of  this  century.  It  was  supposed  that  the  place 
must  be  destroyed  and  dismantled.  It  was  too  vast  for  a  citi- 
zen, and  the  locality  was  no  longer  sufficiently  refined  for  a 
conscript  father.  In  this  dilemma,  Neuchatel  stepped  in  and 
purchased  the  whole  affair — palace  and  park,  and  deer,  and 
pictures,  and  halls,  and  galleries  of  statue  and  bust,  and  furni- 
ture, and  even  wines,  and  all  the  farms  that  remained,  and  all 
the  seigneurial  rights  in  the  royal  forest.  But  he  never  lived 
there.  Though  he  spared  nothing  in  the  maintenance  and  the 
improvement  of  the  domain,  except  on  a  Sunday  he  never 
visited  it,  and  was  never  known  to  sleep  under  its  roof.  "  It 
will  be  ready  for  those  who  come  after  me,"  he  would  remark 
with  a  modest  smile. 

Those  who  came  after  him  were  two  sons,  between  whom 
his  millions  were  divided;  and  Adrian,  the  eldest,  in  addition  to 
his  share,  was  made  the  lord  of  Hainault.      Adrian  had  inher- 


END  r Ml  ON.  117 

ited  something  more,  and  something  more  precious  than  his 
father's  treasure — a  not  inferior  capacity,  united,  in  his  case, 
with  much  culture,  and  with  a  worldly  ambition  to  which  his 
father  was  a  stranger.  So  long  as  that  father  lived,  Adrian 
had  been  extremely  circumspect.  He  seemed  only  devoted  to 
business,  and  to  model  his  conduct  on  that  of  his  eminent  sire. 
That  father,  who  had  recognized  with  pride  and  satisfaction 
his  capacity,  and  who  was  without  jealousy,  had  initiated  his 
son  during  his  lifetime  in  all  the  secrets  of  his  wondrous  craft, 
and  had  intrusted  him  with  a  leading  part  in  their  affairs.  Adrian 
had  waited  in  Downing  Street  on  Lord  Liverpool,  as  his 
father  years  before  had  w^aited  on  Mr.  Pitt. 

The  elder  Neuchatel  departed  this  life  a  little  before  the 
second  French  Revolution  of  1830,  which  had  been  so  fatal  to 
Mr.  Ferrars.  Adrian,  who  had  never  committed  himself  in 
politics,  further  than  sitting  for  a  short  time  for  a  reputed  Tory 
borough,  for  which  he  paid  a  rent  of  a  thousand  a  year,  to  the 
proprietor,  but  who  was  known  to  have  been  nurtured  in  the 
school  of  Pitt  and  Wellington,  astonished  the  world  by  voting 
for  Lord  Grey's  Reform  Bill,  and  announcing  himself  as  a 
Liberal.  This  was  a  large  fish  for  the  new  Liberal  Treasury 
to  capture;  their  triumph  was  great,  and  they  determined  to 
show  that  they  appreciated  the  power  and  the  influence  of 
their  new  ally.  At  the  dissolution  of  1831,  Adrian  Neuchatel 
w^as  a  candidate  for  a  popular  constituency,  and  was  elected  at 
the  head  of  the  poll.  His  brother,  Melchior,  was  also  returned, 
and  a  nephew.  The  Liberals  were  alarmed  by  a  subscription 
of  fabulous  dimensions  said  to  have  been  collected  by  the 
Tories  to  influence  the  general  election;  and  the  undoubted 
contribution  of  a  noble  duke  was  particularly  mentioned,  which 
alone  appalled  the  heart  of  Brooks's.  The  matter  was  put 
before  Neuchatel  as  he  entered  the  club  to  which  he  had  been 
recently  elected  with  acclamation.  "  So  you  are  a  little  fright- 
ened," he  said  with  a  peculiarly  witching  smile  which  he  had, 
half  mockery  and  half  good-nature;  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  will 
do  what  you  wish,  but  I  see  through  you  and  everybody 
else."  "  So  you  are  a  little  frightened.  Well ;  we  city  men 
must  see  what  we  can  do  against  the  dukes.  You  may  put 
me  down  for  double  his  amount." 

Adrian  purchased  a  very  fine  mansion  in  Portland  Place, 
and  took  up  his  residence  formally  at  Hainault.  He  delighted 
in  the  place,  and  to  dwell  there  in  a  manner  becoming  the 
scene  had  always  been  one  of  his  dreams.    Now  he  lived  there 


ii8     -  ENDTMION. 

with  unbounded  expenditure.  He  was  passionately  fond  of 
horses,  and  even  in  his  father's  lifetime  had  run  some  at  New- 
market in  another  name.  The  stables  at  Hainault  had  been 
modelled  on  those  at  Chantilly,  and  were  almost  as  splendid  a 
pile  as  the  mansion  itself.  They  were  soon  full,  and  of  first- 
rate  animals  in  their  different  ways.  With  his  choice  teams 
Adrian  could  reach  Bishopsgate  from  Hainault,  particularly  if 
there  were  no  stoppages  in  Whitechapel,  in  much  under  an 
hour. 

If  he  had  fifty  persons  in  his  stables,  there  were  certainly  as 
many  in  his  park  and  gardens.  These  latter  were  most  elabor- 
ate. It  seemed  there  was  nothing  that  Hainault  could  not  pro- 
duce: all  the  fruits  and  flowers  of  the  tropics.  The  conserva- 
tories and  forcing  houses  looked,  in  the  distance,  like  a  city  of 
glass.  But,  after  all,  the  portion  of  this  immense  establishment 
which  was  most  renowned,  and  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  best 
appreciated,  was  the  establishment  of  the  kitchen.  The  chief 
was  the  greatest  celebrity  of  Europe;  and  he  had  no  limit  to 
his  staff,  which  he  had  selected  with  the  utmost  scrutiny,  main- 
tained with  becoming  spirit,  and  winnowed  with  unceasing 
vigilance.  Every  day  at  Hainault  was  a  banquet.  What  de- 
lighted Adrian  was  to  bring  down  without  notice  a  troop  of 
friends,  conscious  they  would  be  received  as  well  as  if  there 
had  been  a  preparation  of  weeks.  Sometimes  it  was  a  body 
from  the  Stock  Exchange,  sometimes  a  host  from  the  House 
of  Commons,  sometimes  a  board  of  directors  with  whom  he 
had  been  transacting  business  in  the  morning.  It  delighted 
Adrian  to  see  them  quaffing  his  burgundy,  and  stuffing  down 
his  truffles,  and  his  choice  pies  from  Strasbourg,  and  all  the 
delicate  dishes  which  many  of  them  looked  at  with  wonder  and 
tasted  with  timidity.  And  then  he  would,  with  his  particular 
smile,  say  to  a  brother  bank-director  whose  mouth  was  full  and 
who  could  only  answer  him  with  his  eyes,  "  Business  gives  one 
an  appetite;  eh,  Mr.  Trodgits?" 

Sunday  was  always  a  great  day  at  Hainault.  The  Royal 
and  the  Stock  Exchanges  were  both  of  them  always  fully  rep- 
resented; and  then  they  often  had  an  opportunity,  which 
they  highly  appreciated,  of  seeing  and  conferring  with  some 
public  characters,  M.  P.s  of  note  or  promise,  and  occasionally 
a  secretary  of  the  treasury  or  a  privy-councillor.  "  Turtle 
makes  all  men  equal,"  Adrian  would  observe.  "  Our  friend 
Trodgits  seemed   a  little    embarrassed   at  first  when  I  intro- 


END  r MI  ON,  119 

duced  him  to  the  Right  Honorable;  but  wlien  they  sat  next 
each  other  at  dinner  they  soon  got  on  very  well." 

On  Sunday  the  guests  walked  about  and  amused  themselves. 
No  one  was  allowed  to  ride  or  drive;  Mrs.  Neuchatel  did  not 
like  riding  and  driving  on  Sundays.  "  I  see  no  harm  in  it," 
said  Adrian,  "but  1  like  women  to  have  their  way  about  relig- 
ion. And  you  may  go  to  the  stables  and  see  the  horses,  and 
that  might  take  up  the  morning.  And  then  there  are  the 
houses,  they  will  amuse  you.  For  my  part,  I  am  for  a 
stroll  in  the  forest;"  and  then  he  would  lead  his  companions, 
after  a  delightful  ramble,  to  some  spot  of  agrestic  charm,  and, 
looking  at  it  with  delight  would  say,  "  Pretty;  is  it  not?  But 
then  they  say  this  place  is  not  fashionable.  It  will  do,  1  think, 
for  us  city  men." 

Adrian  had  married,  when  very  young,  a  lady  selected  by 
his  father.  The  selection  seemed  a  good  one.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  most  eminent  banker,  and  had  herself,  though 
that  was  of  slight  importance,  a  large  portion.  She  was  a 
woman  of  abilities,  highly  cultivated.  Nothing  had  ever  been 
spared  that  she  should  possess  every  possible  accomplishment, 
and  acquire  every  information  and  grace  that  it  was  desirable 
to  attain.  She  was  a  linguist,  a  fine  musician,  no  mean  artist; 
and  she  threw  out,  if  she  willed  it,  the  treasures  of  her  well- 
stored  and  not  unimaginative  mind  with  ease,  and  sometimes 
eloquence.  Her  person,  without  being  absolutely  beautiful, 
was  interesting.  There  was  even  a  degree  of  fascination  in 
her  brown  velvet  eyes.  And  yet  Mrs.  Neuchatel  was  not  a 
contented  spirit ;  and  though  she  appreciated  the  great  qualities 
of  her  husband,  and  viewed  him  even  with  reverence  as  well 
as  affection,  she  scarcely  contributed  to  his  happiness  as  much 
as  became  her.  And  for  this  reason.  Whether  it  were  the 
result  of  physical  organization,  or  whether  it  were  the  satiety 
which  was  the  consequence  of  having  been  born  and  bred  and 
lived  forever  in  a  society  in  which  wealth  was  the  prime  object 
of  existence,  and  practically  the  test  of  excellence,  Mrs.  Neu- 
chatel had  imbibed  not  merely  a  contempt  for  money,  but 
absolutely  a  hatred  of  it.  The  prosperity  of  her  house  de- 
pressed her.  The  stables  with  their  fifty  grooms,  and  the 
grounds  with  their  fifty  gardeners,  and  the  daily  visit  of  the 
head  cook  to  pass  the  bill  of  fare  were  incidents  and  circum- 
stances that  made  her  melancholy.  She  looked  upon  the  Stock 
Exchange  coming  down  to  dinner  as  she  would  on  an  invasion 
of  the   Visigoths,  and    endured    the   stiff  observations  or  the 


I20  ENDTMION, 

cumbrous  liveliness  of  the  merchants  and  bank-directors  with 
gloomy  grace.  Something  less  material  might  be  anticipated 
from  the  members  of  Parliament.  But  whether  they  thought 
it  would  jolease  the  genius  of  the  place,  or  whether  Adrian 
selected  his  friends  from  those  who  sympathized  with  his  pur- 
suits, the  members  of  Parliament  seemed  wonderfully  to  accord 
with  the  general  tone  of  the  conversation,  or  varied  it  only  by 
indulging  in  technical  talk  of  their  own.  Sometimes  she  would 
make  a  desperate  effort  to  change  the  elements  of  their  society; 
something  in  this  way :  "  I  see  M.  Arago  and  M.  Mignet 
have  arrived  here,  Adrian.  Do  not  you  think  we  ought  to 
invite  them  here?  And  then  you  might  ask  Mr.  Macaulay  to 
meet  them.     You  said  you  wished  to  ask  Mr.  Macaulay." 

In  one  respect  the  alliance  between  Adrian  and  his  wife  was 
not  an  unfortunate  one.  A  woman,  and  a  woman  of  abilities, 
fastidious,  and  inclined  to  be  querulous,  might  safely  be  counted 
on  as,  in  general,  insuring  for  both  parties  in  their  union  an  un-' 
satisfactory  and  unhappy  life.  But  Adrian,  though  kind,  gener- 
ous, and  indulgent,  was  so  absorbed  by  his  own  great  affairs, 
was  a  man  at  the  same  time  of  so  serene  a  temper  and  so  su- 
preme a  will,  that  the  over-refined  fantasies  of  his  wife  pro- 
duced not  the  slightest  effect  on  the  course  of  his  life.  Adrian 
Neuchatel  was  what  very  few  people  are — master  in  his  own 
house.  With  a  rich  varnish  of  graciousness  and  favor,  he 
never  swerved  from  his  purpose ;  and,  though  willing  to  effect 
all  things  by  smiles  and  sweet  temper,  he  had  none  of  that 
morbid  sensibility  which  allows  some  men  to  fret  over  a  phrase, 
to  be  tortured  by  a  sigh,  or  to  be  subdued  by  a  tear. 

There  had  been  born  of  this  marriage  only  one  child,  the 
greatest  heiress  in  England.  She  had  been  christened,  after 
her  father,  Adriana.  She  was  now  about  seventeen;  and  had 
she  not  been  endowed  with  the  finest  disposition  and  the 
sweetest  temper  in  the  world,  she  must  have  been  spoiled,  for 
both  her  parents  idolized  her.  To  see  her  every  day  was  for 
Adrian  a  reward  for  all  his  labors,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  greatest 
afTairs  he  would  always  snatch  a  moment  to  think  how  he  could 
contribute  to  her  pleasure  or  her  happiness.  All  that  was  rare 
and  delightful  and  beautiful  in  the  world  was  at  her  command. 
There  was  no  limit  to  the  gratification  of  her  wishes.  But 
alas!  this  favored  maiden  wished  for  nothing.  Her  books  in- 
terested her,  and  a  beautiful  nature;  but  she  liked  to  be  alone 
or  with  her  mother.  She  was  impressed  with  the  horrible  and 
humiliating  conviction  that  she  was  courted  and  admired  only 
for  her  wealth. 


ENDTMION.  121 

"  What  my  daughter  requires,"  said  Adrian,  as  he  mused 
over  these  domestic  contrarieties,  "  is  a  companion  of  her  own 
age.  Her  mother  is  the  very  worst  constant  companion  she 
could  have.  She  requires  somebody  with  charm,  and  yet  of  a 
commanding  mind;  with  youthful  sympathy,  and  yet  influenc- 
ing her  in  the  right  way.  It  must  be  a  person  of  birth  and 
breeding  and  complete  self-respect.  I  do  not  want  to  have  any 
parasites  in  my  house,  or  affected  fine  ladies.  That  would  do 
no  good.  What  I  do  want  is  a  thing  very  difiicult  to  procure. 
And  yet  they  say  everything  is  to  be  obtained.  At  least  I 
have  always  thought  so,  and  found  it  so.  I  have  the  greatest 
opinion  of  an  advertisement  in  the  Times.  I  got  some  of  my 
best  clerks  by  advertisements  In  the  Times.  If  I  had  con- 
sulted friends,  there  would  have  been  no  end  of  jobbing  for 
such  patronage.  One  could  not  trust,  in  such  matters,  one's 
own  brother.  I  will  draw  up  an  advertisement  and  insert  it  in 
the  Times^  and  have  the  references  to  my  counting-house.  I 
will  think  over  the  wording  as  I  drive  to  town."  This  was 
the  wording : 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

A  BANKER  and  his  Wife  require  a  Companion  for  their  only  child, 
a  young  lady  whose  accomplishments  and  acquirements  are  already 
considerable.  The  friend  that  they  would  wish  for  her  must  be  of  about 
the  same  age  as  herself,  and  in  every  other  respect  their  lots  will  be  the 
same.  The  person  thus  desired  will  be  received  and  treated  as  a  daughter 
of  the  house,  will  be  allowed  her  own  suite  of  apartments,  her  own  ser- 
vants and  equipage.  She  must  be  a  person  of  birth,  breeding,  and  entire 
self-respect;  with  a  mind  and  experience  capable  of  directing  conduct, 
and  with  manners  which  will  engage  sympathy. — Apply  to  H.  H,,  45 
Bishopsgate  Street  Within. 

This  advertisement  met  the  eye  of  Myra  at  Hurstley  Rec- 
tory about  a  month  after  her  father's  death,  and  she  resolved 
to  answer  It.  Her  reply  pleased  Mr.  Neuchatel.  He  selected 
it  out  of  hundreds,  and  placed  himself  In  communication  with 
Mr.  Penruddock.  The  result  was  that  Miss  Ferrars  was  to* 
pay  a  visit  to  the  Neuchatels;  and  if  on  experience,  they  liked 
each  other,  the  engagement  was  to  take  place. 

In  the  mean  time  the  good  rector  of  Hurstley  arrived  on  the 
previous  evening  with  his  precious  charge  at  Halnault  House; 
and  was  rewarded  for  his  kind  exertions,  not  only  by  the  pros- 
pect of  assisting  Myra,  but  by  some  present  experience  of  a 
splendid  and  unusual  scene. 


23  END  r MI  ON, 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her,  mamma?"  said  Adriana,  with 
glistening  eyes,  as  she  ran  into  Mrs.  Neuchatel's  dressing- 
room  for  a  moment  before  dinner 

"  I  think  her  manners  are  perfect,"  replied  Mrs.  Neuchatel ; 
"  and  as  there  can  be  no  doubt,  after  all  we  have  heard,  of  her 
principles,  I  think  we  are  most  fortunate.  But  what  do  you 
think  of  her,  Adriana?  For,  after  all,  that  is  the  main  ques- 
tion." 

"  I  think  she  is  divine,"  said  Adriana;  "  but  I  fear  she  has  no 
heart." 

"  And  why?  Surely  it  is  early  to  decide  on  such  a  matter 
as  that." 

"  When  I  took  her  to  her  room,"  said  Adriana,  "  I  suppose 
I  was  nervous;  but  I  burst  into  tears,  and  threw  my  arms 
round  her  neck  and  embraced  her,  but  she  did  not  respond. 
She  touched  my  forehead  with  her  lips,  and  withdrew  from 
my  embrace." 

"  She  wished,  perhaps,  to  teach  you  to  control  your  emo- 
tions," said  Mrs.  Neuchatel.  "  You  have  known  her  only  an 
hour,  and  you  could  not  have  done  more  to  your  own  mother." 

It  had  been  arranged  that  there  should  be  no  visitors  to-day ; 
only  a  nephew  and  a  foreign  consul-general,  just  to  break 
the  formality  of  the  meeting.  Mr.  Neuchatel  placed  Myra 
next  to  himself  at  the  round  table,  and  treated  her  with 
marked  consideration — cordial  but  courteous,  and  easy,  with 
a  certain  degree  of  deference.  His  wife,  who  piqued  herself 
on  perception  of  character,  threw  her  brown  velvet  eyes  on 
her  neighbor,  Mr.  Penruddock,  and  cross-examined  him  in 
mysterious  whispers.  She  soon  recognized  his  love  of  nature ; 
and  this  allowed  her  to  dissert  on  the  subject,  at  once  sub- 
lime and  inexhaustible,  with  copiousness  worthy  of  the  theme. 
When  she  found  he  was  an  entomologist,  and  that  it  was  not 
so  much  mountains  as  insects  whicii  interested  him,  she  shifted 
her  ground,  but  treated  it  with  equal  felicity.  Strange,  but 
nature  is  never  so  powerful  as  in  insect  life.  The  white  ant 
can  destroy  fleets  and  cities,  and  the  locusts  erase  a  province. 
And  then  how  beneficent  they  are!  Man  would  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  rival  their  exploits :  the  bee  that  gives  us  honey ;  the 
worm,  that  gives  us  silk;  the  cochineal  that  supplies  our  man- 
ufactures with  their  most  brilliant  dye. 


END  r MI  ON,  •  123 

Mr.  Penruddock  did  not  seem  to  know  much  about  manu- 
factures, but  always  recommended  his  cottagers  to  keep  bees. 

"  The  lime-tree  abounds  in  our  village,  and  there  is  nothing 
the  bees  love  more  than  its  blossoms." 

This  direct  reference  to  his  village  led  Mrs.  Neuchatel  to  an 
inquiry  as  to  the  state  of  the  poor  about  Hurstley,  and  she  made 
the  inquiry  in  a  tone  of  commisseration. 

"Oh!  we  do  pretty  well,"  said  Mr.  Penruddock. 

"  But  how  can  a  family  live  on  ten  or  twelve  shillings  a 
week?"  murmured  Mrs.  Neuchatel. 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Penruddock.  "  A  family  has  more 
than  that.    With  a  family  the  income  proportionately  increases." 

Mrs.  Neuchatel  sighed.  "  I  must  say,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot 
help  feeling  there  is  something  wrong  in  our  present  arrange- 
ments. When  I  sit  down  to  dinner  every  day,  with  all  these 
dishes,  and  remember  that  there  are  millions  who  never  taste 
meat,  I  cannot  resist  the  conviction  that  it  would  be  better  if 
there  were  some  equal  division,  and  all  should  have,  if  not 
much,  at  least  something. 

"  Nonsense,  Emily,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  who  had  an  organ 
like  Fine-ear,  and  could  catch,  when  necessary,  his  wife's  most 
mysterious  revelations.  "  My  wife,  Mr.  Penruddock,  is  a  regu- 
lar Communist.  I  hope  you  are  not,"  he  added,  with  a  smile, 
turning  to  Myra. 

"  I  think  life  would  be  very  insipid,"  replied  Myra,  "  if  all 
our  lots  were  the  same." 

When  the  ladies  withdrew,  Adriana  and  Myra  walked  out 
together  hand-in-hand.  Mr.  Neuchatel  rose  and  sat  next  to 
Mr.  Penruddock,  and  began  to  talk  politics.  His  reverend 
guest  could  not  conceal  his  alarm  about  the  position  of  the 
Church,  and  spoke  of  Lord  John  Russell's  appropriation  clause 
with  well-bred  horror. 

"  Well,  I  do  not  think  these  is  much  to  be  afraid  of,"  said 
Mr.  Neuchatel.  "  This  is  a  liberel  age,  and  you  cannot  go 
against  it.  The  people  must  be  educated,  and  where  are  the 
funds  to  come  from?  We  must  all  do  something,  and  the 
Church  must  contribute  its  share.  You  know  I  am  a 
Liberal,  but  I  am  not  for  any  rash  courses.  I  am  not  at  all 
sorry  that  Sir  Robert  Peel  gained  so  much  at  the  last  general 
election.  I  like  parties  to  be  balanced.  I  am  quite  content 
with  affairs.  My  friends,  the  Liberals,  are*n  office,  and,  being 
there,  they  can  do  very  little.  That  is  the  state  of  things,  is  it 
not,  Melchior?"  he  added,  with  a  smile  to  his  nephew,  who 


124  •  ENDTMION, 

was  an  M.  P.  "  A  balanced  state  of  parties,  and  the  house  of 
Neuchatel  with  three  votes — that  will  do.  We  poor  city  men 
get  a  little  attention  paid  to  us  now,  but  before  the  dissolution 
three  votes  went  for  nothing.  Now,  shall  we  go  and  ask  my 
daughter  to  give  us  a  song  ? " 

Mrs.  Neuchatel  accompanied  her  daughter  on  the  piano,  and 
after  a  time  not  merely  on  the  instrument.  The  organ  of  both 
was  fine  and  richly  cultivated.  It  was  choice  chamber  music, 
Mr.  Neuchatel  seated  himself  by  Myra.  His  tone  was  more 
than  kind,  and  his  manner  gentle.  "  It  is  a  little  awkward  the 
iirst  day,"  he  said,  "  among  strangers,  but  that  will  soon  wear 
off.  You  must  bring  your  mind  to  feel  that  this  is  your  home, 
and  we  shall  all  of  us  do  everything  in  our  power  to  convince 
you  of  it.  Mr.  Penruddock  mentioned  to  me  your  wish,  under 
present  circumstances,  to  enter  as  little  as  possible  into  society, 
and  this  is  a  very  social  house.  Your  feeling  is  natural,  and 
you  will  be  in  this  matter  entirely  your  own  mistress.  We 
shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you,  but  if  you  are  not  present  we 
shall  know  and  respect  the  cause.  For  my  own  part,  I  am 
one  of  those  who  would  rather  cherish  affection  than  indulge 
grief,  but  every  one  must  follow  their  mood.  I  hear  you  have 
a  brother  to  whom  \^ou  are  much  attached ;  a  twin,  too,  and, 
they  tell  me^  strongly  resembling  you.  He  is  in  a  public  oflice, 
I  believe.  Now,  understand  this;  your  brother  can  come  here 
whenever  he  likes,  without  any  further  invitation.  Ask  him 
whenever  you  please.  We  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  him. 
No  sort  of  notice  is  necessary.  This  is  not  a  very  small  house, 
and  we  can  always  manage  to  find  a  bed  and  a  cutlet  for  a 
friend." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Nothing  could ^  be  more  successful  that  the  connection 
formed  between  the  Neuchatel  family  and  Myra  Ferrars. 
Both  parties  to  the  compact  were  alike  satisfied.  Myra  had 
**got  out  of  that  hole"  which  she  always  hated,  and  though 
the  new  life  she  had  entered  was  not  exactly  the  one  she  had 
mused  over,  and  which  was  founded  on  the  tradition  of  her 
early  experience,  it  was  a  life  of  energy  and  excitement,  of 
splendor  and  power,  with  a  total  absence  of  petty  vexations 
and  miseries,  affording  neither  time  nor  cause  for  the  wearing 
chagrin  of  a  monotonous  and   mediocre  existence.     But  the 


ENDTMION,  125 

crowning  joy  of  her  emancipation  was  the  prospect  it  offered 
of  frequent  enjoyment  of  the  society  of  her  brother. 

With  regard  to  the  Neuchatels,  they  found  in  Myra  every- 
thing they  could  desire.  Mrs.  Neuchatel  was  delighted  with 
a  companion  who  was  not  the  daughter  of  a  banker,  and  whose 
schooled  intellect  not  only  comprehended  all  her  doctrines, 
however  abstruse  or  fanciful,  but  who  did  not  hesitate,  if  neces- 
sary, to  controvert  or  even  confute  them.  As  for  Adriana,  she 
literally  idolized  a  friend  whose  proud  spirit  and  clear  intelli- 
gence were  calculated  to  exercise  a  strong  but  salutary  influence 
over  her  timid  but  sensitive  nature.  As  for  the  great  banker 
himself,  who  really  had  that  faculty  of  reading  character  which 
his  wife  flattered  herself  she  possessed,  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  about  Myra  from  the  first,  both  from  her  correspondence 
and  her  conversation.  "  She  has  more  common-sense  than 
any  woman  I  ever  knew,  and  more,"  he  would  add,  "  than 
most  men.  If  she  were  not  so  handsome,  people  would  find  it 
out;  but  they  cannot  understand  that  so  beautiful  a  woman  can 
have  a  head-piece  that,  I  really  believe,  could  manage  the 
affairs  of  Bishopsgate  Street." 

In  the  mean  time  life  at  Hainault  resumed  its  usual  course; 
streams  of  guests,  of  all  parties,  colors,  and  classes,  and  even 
nations.  Sometimes  Mr.  Neuchatel  would  say,  "  I  really  must 
have  a  quiet  day  that  Miss  Ferrars  may  dine  with  us,  and  she 
shall  ask  her  brother.  How  glad  I  shall  be  when  she  goes 
into  half-mourning.  I  scarcely  catch  a  glimpse  of  her."  And 
all  this  time  his  wife  and  daughter  did  nothing  but  quote  her, 
which  was  still  more  irritating;  for,  as  he  would  say,  half- 
grumbling  and  half-smiling,  "  If  it  had  not  been  for  me,  she 
would  not  have  been  here." 

At  first  Adriana  would  not  dine  at  table  without  Myra,  and 
insisted  on  sharing  her  imprisonment.  "  It  does  not  look  like 
a  cell,"  said  Myra,  surveying  not  without  complacency  her 
beautiful  litde  chamber  beautifully  lit,  with  its  silken  hangings 
and  carved  ceilmg,  and  bright  with  books  and  pictures; 
"besides,  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be  a  prisoner. 
You  have  not  lost  a  father,  and  I  hope  you  never  will." 

"Amen!"  said  Adriana.  "That  would,  indeed,  be  the 
unhappiest  day  of  my  life." 

"  You  cannot  be  in  society  too  jnuch  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
day,"  said  Myra.  "  The  mornings  should  be  sacred  to  our- 
selves, but  for  the  rest  of  the  hours  people  are  to  see  and  to  be 
seen,  and,"  she   added,  "  to  like  and  to  be  liked."     Adriana 


126  ENDTMION. 

shook  her  head.     "  I  do  not  wish  any  one  to  like  me  but  you." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  always  like  you,  and  love  you,"  said 
Myra,  "  but  I  am  equally  sure  that  a  great  many  other  people 
will  do  the  same." 

"  It  will  not  be  myself  that  they  like  or  love,"  said  Adriana, 
with  a  sigh. 

"  Now  spare  me  that  vein,  dear  Adriana;  you  know  I  do 
not  like  it.  It  is  not  agreeable,  and  I  do  not  think  it  is  true. 
I  believe  that  women  are  loved  much  more  for  themselves  than 
is  supposed.  Besides,  a  woman  should  be  content  if  she  is 
loved;  that  is  the  point;  and  she  is  not  to  inquire  how  far  the  ac- 
cidents of  life  have  contributed  to  the  result.  Why  should  you 
not  be  loved  for  yourself?  You  have  an  interesting  appear- 
ance. I  think  you  very  pretty.  You  have  choice  accomplish- 
ments and  agreeable  conversation,  and  the  sweetest  temper  in 
the  world.  You  want  a  little  self-conceit,  my  dear.  If  I  were 
you  and  admired  I  should  never  think  of  my  fortune." 

"  If  you  were  the  greatest  heiress  in  the  world,  Myra,  and 
were  married,  nobody  would  suppose  for  a  moment  that  it  was 
for  your  fortune." 

"  Go  down  to  dinner  and  smile  upon  everybody,  and  tell  me 
about  your  conquests  to-morrow.  And  say  to  your  dear  papa 
that,  as  he  is  so  kind  as  to  wish  to  see  me,  I  will  join  them 
after  dinner." 

And  so,  for  two  months,  she  occasionally  appeared  in  the 
evening,  especially  when  there  was  no  formal  party.  Endym- 
ion  came  and  visited  her  every  Sunday;  but  he  was  also  a 
social  recluse,  and  though  he  had  been  presented  to  Mrs.  Neu- 
chatel  and  her  daughter,  and  been  most  cordially  received  by 
them,  it  was  some  considerable  time  before  he  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  great  banker. 

About  September  Myra  may  be  said  to  have  formally 
joined  the  cirlcle  at  Hainault.  Three  months  had  elapsed 
since  the  terrible  event,  and  she  felt,  irrespective  of  other 
considerations,  her  position  hardly  justified  her,  notwith- 
standing all  the  indulgent  kindness  of  the  family  in  continuing 
a  course  of  life  which  she  was  conscious  to  them  was  some- 
times an  inconvenience  and  always  a  disappointment.  It  was 
impossible  to  deny  that  she  was  interested  and  amused  by  the 
world,  which  she  now  witnessed — so  energetic,  so  restless,  so 
various;  so  full  of  urgent  and  pressing  life;  never  thinking  of 
the  past  and  quite  heedless  of  the  future,  but  worshipping  an 
almighty  present  thL.t  sometimes  seemed  to  roll  on  like  the  car 


ENDTMION.  127 

of  Juggernaut.  She  was  much  diverted  by  the  gentlemen  of 
the  Stock  Exchange,  so  acute,  so  audacious,  and  differing  so 
much  from  the  merchants  in  the  style  even  of  their  dress,  and 
in  the  ease,  perhaps  the  too  great  facility,  of  their  bearing. 
They  called  each  other  by  their  Christian  names,  and  there 
were  allusions  to  practical  jokes  which  intimated  a  life  some- 
thing between  a  public  school  and  a  garrison.  On  more  sol- 
emn days  there  were  diplomatists  and  men  in  public  office; 
sometimes  great  musical  artists,  and  occasionally  a  French 
actor.  But  the  dinners  were  always  the  same;  dishes  worthy 
of  the  great  days  of  the  Bourbons,  and  wines  of  rarity  and 
price,  which  could  not  ruin  Neuchatel,  for  in  many  instances 
the  vineyards  belonged  to  himself. 

One  morning  at  breakfast,  when  he  rarely  encountered  them, 
but  it  was  a  holiday  in  the  City,  Mr.  Neuchatel  said,  "  There 
are  a  few  gentlemen  coming  to  dine  here  to-day  whom  you 
know,  with  one  exception.  He  is  a  young  man,  a  very  nice 
young  fellow.  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  him  of  late  on  bus- 
iness in  the  City,  and  have  taken  a  fancy  to  him.  He  is  a 
foreigner,  but  he  was  partly  educated  in  this  country,  and  speaks 
English  as  well  as  any  of  us." 

"  Then  I  suppose  he  is  not  a  Frenchman,"  said  Mrs.  Neu- 
chatel, "  for  they  never  speak  English." 

"  I  shall  not  say  what  he  is.  You  must  all  find  out.  I  dare 
say  Miss  Ferrars  will  discover  him ;  but,  remember,  you  must 
all  of  you  pay  him  great  attention,  for  he  is  not  a  common  per- 
son, I  can  assure  you." 

"  You  are  mysterious,  Adrian,"  said  his  wife,  "  and  quite 
pique  our  curiosity." 

"  Well,  I  wish  somebody  would  pique  mine,"  said  the  banker. 
*'  These  holidays  in  the  City  are  terrible  things.  I  think  I  will 
go  after  breakfast  and  look  at  the  new  house,  and  I  dare  say 
Miss  Ferrars  will  be  kind  enough  to  be  my  compajiion." 

Several  of  the  visitors,  fortunately  for  the  banker,  whose  time 
hung  rather  heavily  on  his  hands,  arrived  an  hour  or  so  before 
dinner,  that  they  might  air  themselves  in  the  famous  gardens 
and  see  some  of  the  new  plants.  But  the  guest  whom  he  most 
wished  to  greet,  and  whom  the  ladies  were  most«curious  to 
w^elcome,  did  not  arrive.  Thev  had  all  entered  the  house  and 
the  critical  moment  was  at  hand,  when  just  as  dinner  was  about 
to  be  announced,  the  servants  ushered  in  a  young  man  of  dis- 
tinguished appearance,  and  the  banker  exclaimed,  "  You  have 


128  END  r MI  ON. 

arrived  just  in  time  to  take  Mrs.  Neuchatel  in  to  dinner,"  and 
he  presented  to  her — Colonel  Albert. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

The  ladies  were  much  interested  by  Colonel  Albert.  Mrs. 
Neuchatel  exercised  on  him  all  the  unrivalled  arts  by  which 
she  so  unmistakably  discovered  character.  She  threw  on  him 
her  brown  velvet  eyes  with  a  subdued  yet  piercing  beam, 
which  would  penetrate  his  most  secret  and  even  undeveloped 
intelligence.  She  asked  questions  in  a  hushed  mystical  voice, 
and  as  the  colonel  was  rather  silent  and  somewhat  short  in  his 
replies,  though  ever  expressed  in  a  voice  of  sensibility  and  with 
refined  deference  of  manner,  Mrs.  Neuchatel  opened  her  own 
peculiar  views  on  a  variety  of  subjects  of  august  interest,  such 
as  education,  high  art,  the  influence  of  woman  in  society,  the 
formation  of  character,  and  the  distribution  of  wealth,  on  all  of 
which  this  highly  gifted  lady  was  always  in  the  habit  of  in- 
forming her  audience,  by  way  of  accompaniment,  that  she  was 
conscious  that  the  views  she  entertained  were  peculiar.  The 
views  of  Mrs.  Neuchatel  were  peculiar,  and  therefore  not  al- 
ways, or  even  easily  comprehended.  That,  indeed,  she  felt 
was  rather  her  fate  in  life,  but  a  superior  intelligence  like  hers 
has  a  degree  of  sublimated  self-respect  which  defies  destiny. 

When  she  was  alone  with  the  ladies,  the  bulletin  of  Mrs, 
Neuchatel  was  not  so  copious  as  had  been  expected.  She 
announced  that  Colonel  Albert  was  sentimental,  and  she  sus- 
pected a  poet.  But  for  the  rest  she  had  discovered  nothing, 
not  even  his  nationality.  She  had  tried  him  both  in  French 
and  German,  but  he  persisted  in  talking  English,  although 
he  spoke  of  himself  as  a  foreigner.  After  dinner  he  conversed 
chiefly  with  the  men,  particularly  with  the  governor  of  the 
bank,  who  seemed  to  interest  him  much,  and  a  director  of  one 
of  the  dock  companies,  who*  offered  to  show  him  over  their 
establishment,  an  offer  which  Colonel  Albert  eagerly  accepted. 
Then,  as  if  he  remembered  that  homage  was  due  at  such  a 
moment  to  the  fairer  sex,  he  went  and  seated  himself  by 
Adriana,  and  was  playful  and  agreeable,  though,  when  she 
was  cross-examined  afterwards  by  her  friends  as  to  the  charac- 
ter of  his  conversation,  she  really  could  not  recall  anything 
particular  except  that  he  was  fond  of  horses,  and  said  that  he 
should  like  very  much  to  take  a  ride  with  her.    Just  before  he 


ENDTMION,  129 

took  his  departure,  Colonel  Albert  addressed  Myra,  and  in  a 
rather  strange  manner.  He  said,  "  I  have  been  puzzling  my- 
self all  dinner,  but  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  we  have  met 
before." 

Myra  shook  her  head  and  said,  "  I  think  that  is  impossible." 

"  Well,"  said  the  colonel  w^ith  a  look  a  little  perplexed  and 
not  altogether  satisfied,  "  I  suppose  then  it  w^as  a  dream.  May 
dreams  so  delightful,"  and  he  bowed,  "  never  be  wanting." 

"  So  you  think  he  is  a  poet,  Emily,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel 
when  they  had  all  gone.  "  We  have  got  a  good  many  of  his 
papers  in  Bishopsgate  Street,  but  I  have  not  met  with  any 
verses  in  them  yet." 

The  visit  of  Colonel  Albert  was  soon  repeated,  and  he 
became  a  rather  frequent  guest  at  Hainault.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  a  favorite  with  Mr.  Neuchatel.  "  He  knows  very 
few  people,"  he  would  say,  "  and  I  wish  him  to  make  some 
friends.  Poor  young  fellow!  he  has  had  rather  a  hard  life  of 
it,  and  seen  some  service  for  such  a  youth.  He  is  a  perfect 
gentleman,  and  if  he  be  a  poet,  Emily,  that  is  all  in  your  way. 
You  like  literary  people,  and  are  always  begging  that  I  should 
ask  them.  Well,  next  Saturday  you  will  have  a  sort  of  a  lion 
— one  of  the  principal  writers  in  Scaramouch.  He  is  going  to 
Paris  as  the  foreign  correspondent  of  the  Chuck- Farthing .^ 
with  a  thousand  a  year,  and  one  of  my  friends  in  the  Stock 
Exchange,  who  is  his  great  ally,  asked  me  to  give  him  some 
letters.  So  he  came  to  Bishopsgate  Street — they  all  come  to 
Bishopsgate  Street — and  I  asked  him  to  dine  here  on  Saturday. 
By-the-by,  Miss  Ferrars,  ask  your  brother  to  come  on  the  same 
day  and  stay  with  us  till  Monday.  I  will  take  him  up  to  town 
with  me  quite  in  time  for  his  office." 

This  was  the  first  time  that  Endymion  had  remained  at 
Hainault.  He  looked  forward  to  the  visit  with  anticipations 
of  great  pleasure.  Hainault,  and  all  the  people  there,  and  ev- 
erything about  it,  delighted  him,  and  most  of  all  the  happiness 
of  his  sister,  and  the  consideration  and  generosity  and  delicate 
affection  with  which  she  was  treated.  One  morning,  to  his 
astonishment,  Myra  had  insisted  upon  his  accepting  from  her 
no  inconsiderable  sum  of  money.  "  It  is  no  part  of  my  sal- 
ary," she  said,  when  he  talked  of  her  necessities.  "Mr. 
Neuchatel  said  he  gave  it  to  me  for  outfit  and  to  buy  gloves. 
But  being  in  mourning,  I  want  to  buy  nothing,  and  you,  dear 
darling,  must  have  many  wants.  Besides,  Mrs.  Neuchatel 
has  made  me  so  many  jDresents,  that  I  really  do  not  think  that 
I  shall  ever  want  to  buy  anything  again." 


I30  ENDTMION. 

It  was  rather  a  grand  party  at  Hainault,  such  as  Endymlon 
had  little  experience  of.  There  was  a  cabinet  minister  and 
his  wife,  not  only  an  ambassador,  but  an  ambassadress  who 
had  been  asked  to  meet  them,  a  nephew  Neuchatal,  the 
M.  P.  with  a  pretty  young  wife,  and  several  apparently  single 
gentlemen  of  note  and  position.  Endymion  was  nervous 
when  he  entered,  and  more  so  because  Myra  was  not  in  the 
room.  But  his  trepidation  was  absorbed  in  his  amazement 
when  in  the  distance  he  observed  St.  Barbe,  with  a  very  stiff 
white  cravat,  and  his  hair  brushed  into  unnatural  order,  and 
his  whole  demeanor  forming  a  singular  contrast  to  the  rollick- 
ing cynicism  of  Joe's  and  the  office. 

Mr.  Neuchatel  presented  St.  Barbe  to  the  lady  of  the  man- 
sion. "  Here  is  one  of  our  great  wits,"  said  the  banker,  "  and 
he  is  going  to  Paris,  which  is  the  capital  of  wits."  The  critical 
moment  prevented  prolonged  conversation,  but  the  lady  of  the 
mansion  did  contrive  to  convey  to  St.  Barbe  her  admiring 
familiarity  with  some  of  his  effusions,  and  threw  out  a  phrase 
which  proved  how  finely  she  could  distinguish  between  wit  and 
humor. 

Endymion  at  dinner  sat  between  two  M.  P.  s,  whom  his  ex- 
perience at  the  House  of  Commons  allowed  him  to  recognize. 
As  he  was  a  young  man  whom  neither  of  them  knew,  neither 
of  them  addressed  him,  but  with  delicate  breeding  carried  on 
an  active  conversation  across  him,  as  if  in  fact  he  was  not  pres- 
ent. As  Endymion  had  very  little  vanity,  this  did  not  at  all 
annoy  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  amused,  for  they  spoke  of 
matters  with  which  he  was  not  unacquainted,  though  he  looked 
as  if  he  knew  or  heard  nothing.  Their  conversation  was  what 
is  called  "shop:"  all  about  the  House  and  office;  criticisms  on 
speakers,  speculations  as  to  preferment,  what  government 
would  do  about  this,  and  how  well  government  got  out  of  that. 

Endymion  was  amused  by  seeing  Myra,  who  was  remote 
from  him,  sitting  by  St.  Barbe,  who,  warmed  by  the  banquet, 
was  evidently  holding  forth  without  the  slightest  conception 
that  his  neighbor  whom  he  addressed  had  long  become  familiar 
with  his  characteristics. 

After  dinner  St.  Barbe  pounced  upon  Endymion.  "  Only 
think  of  our  meeting  here ! "  he  said.  "  I  wonder  why  they 
asked  you.  You  are  not  going  to  Paris,  and  you  are  not  a 
wit.  What  a  family  this  is,"  he  said;  "  I  had  no  idea  of  wealth 
before!  Did  you  observe  the  silver  plates?  I  could  not  hold 
mine  with  one  hand,  it  was  so  heavy.     I  do  not  suppose  there 


ENDTMION.  131 

are  such  plates  in  the  world.  It  gives  one  an  idea  of  the  gal- 
leons and  Anson's  plunder.  But  they  deserve  their  wealth," 
he  added ;  "  nobody  grudges  it  to  them.  I  declare  when  I  was 
eating  that  truffle,  I  felt  a  glow  about  my  heart  that,  if  it  were 
not  indigestion,  I  think  must  have  been  gratitude;  though  that 
is  an  article  I  had  not  believed  in.  He  is  a  wonderful  man, 
that  Neuchatel.  If  I  had  only  known  him  a  year  ago,  I  would 
have  dedicated  my  novel  to  him.  He  is  a  sort  of  man  who 
would  have  given  you  a  check  immediately.  He  would  not 
have  read  it  to  be  sure,  but  what  of  that?  If  you  had  dedi- 
cated it  to  a  lord,  the  most  he  would  have  done  would  have 
been  to  have  asked  you  to  dinner,  and  then  perhaps  have  cut 
up  your  work  in  one  of  the  quality  reviews,  and  taken  money 
for  doing  it  out  of  our  pockets!  Oh!  its  too  horrid!  There 
are  some  topsawyers  here  to-day,  Ferrars!  It  would  make 
Seymour  Hicks's  mouth  water  to  be  here.  We  should  have 
had  it  in  the  papers,  and  he  would  have  left  us  out  of  the  list, 
and  called  us  '  etc'  Now  I  dare  say  that  ambassador  has  been 
blundering  all  his  life,  and  yet  there  is  something  in  that  star 
and  ribbon;  I  do  not  know  how  you  feel,  but  I  could  almost 
go  down  on  my  knees  to  him.  And  there  is  a  cabinet  minister; 
well,  we  know  what  he  is;  I  have  been  squibbing  him  for 
these  two  years,  and  now  that  I  meet  him  I  feel  like  a  snob. 
Oh!  there  is  an  immense  deal  of  superstition  left  in  the  world. 
I  am  glad  they  are  going  to  the  ladies.  I  am  to  be  honored 
by  some  conversation  with  the  mistress  of  the  house.  She 
seems  a  first-rate  woman,  familiar  with  the  glorious  pages  of 
a  certain  classic  work,  and  my  humble  effusions.  She  praised 
one  she  thought  I  wrote,  but  between  ourselves,  it  was 
written  by  that  fellow  Seymour  Hicks,  who  imitates  me ;  but  I 
would  not  put  her  right  as  dinner  might  have  been  announced 
every  moment.  But  she  is  a  great  woman,  sir — wonderful 
eyes!  They  are  all  great  women  here.  I  sat  next  to  one  of 
the  daughters,  or  daughters-in-law,  or  nieces  I  suppose.  By 
Jove!  it  was  tierce  and  quart.  If  you  had  been  there  you 
would  have  been  run  through  in  a  moment.  I  had  to  show 
my  art.  Now  they  are  rising.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if 
Mr.  Neuchatel  were  to  present  me  to  some  of  the  grandees. 
I  believe  them  to  be  all  impostors ;  but  still  it  is  pleasant  to  talk 
to  a  man  with  a  star. 

'  Ye  stars  which  are  the  poetry  of  heaven,' 
Byron  wrote ;  a  silly  line ;  he  should  have  written, 

'  Ye  stars  which  are  the  poetry  of  dress/  " 


132  ENDTMION. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

St.  Barbe  was  not  disappointed  in  his  hopes.  It  was  an 
evening  of  glorious  success  for  him.  He  had  even  the  honor 
for  a  time  of  sitting  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Neuchatel,  and  being 
full  of  good  claret,  he,  as  he  phrased  it,  showed  his  paces;  that 
is  to  say,  delivered  himself  of  some  sarcastic  paradoxes,  duly 
blended  with  fulsome  flattery.  Later  in  the  evening,  he  con- 
trived to  be  presented  both  to  the  ambassador  and  the  cabinet 
minister,  and  treated  them  as  if  they  were  demigods;  lis- 
tened to  them  as  if  with  an  admiration  which  he  vainly  en- 
deavored to  repress;  never  spoke  except  to  enforce  and  illus- 
trate the  views  which  they  had  condescended  to  intimate; 
successfully  conveyed  to  his  excellency  that  he  was  conversing 
with  an  enthusiast  for  his  exalted  profession;  and  to  the  min:«- 
ter  that  he  had  met  an  ardent  sympathizer  with  his  noble 
career.  The  ambassador  was  not  dissatisfied  with  the  impres- 
sion he  had  made  on  one  of  the  foreign  correspondents  of  <-he 
Chuck- Far  things  and  the  minister  flattered  himself  that  both 
the  literary  and  the  graphic  representations  of  himself  in  Scar- 
amouch might  possibly  for  the  future  be  mitigated. 

"  I  have  done  business  to-night,"  said  St.  Barbe  to  Endymion 
towards  the  close  of  the  evening.  "  You  did  not  know  I  had 
left  the  old  shop!  I  kept  it  close.  I  could  stand  it  no  longer. 
One  has  energies,  sir,  though  not  recognized — at  least  not 
recognized  much,"  he  added  thoughtfully.  "  But  who  knows 
what  may  happen?  The  age  of  mediocrity  is  not  eternal. 
You  see  this  thing  oflfered,  and  I  saw  an  opening.  It  has  come 
already.  You  saw  the  big-wigs  all  talking  to  me?  I  shall  go 
to  Paris  now  with  some  eclat.  I  shall  invent  a  new  profession; 
the  literary  diplomatist.  The  bore  is,  I  know  nothing  about 
foreign  politics.  My  line  has  been  the  other  way.  Never 
mind;  I  will  read  the  Debats  and  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes^ 
and  make  out  something.  Foreign  affairs  are  all  the  future, 
and  my  views  may  be  as  right  as  anybody  else's;  probably 
more  correct,  not  so  conventional.  What  a  fool  I  was,  Ferrars! 
I  was  asked  to  remain  here  to-night  and  refused!  The  truth 
is,  I  could  not  stand  those  powdered  gentlemen,  and  I  should 
have  been  under  their  care.  They  seem  so  haughty  and  super- 
cilious. And  yet  I  was  wrong.  I  spoke  to  one  of  them  very 
rudely  just  now,  when  he  was  handing  coffee,  to  show  I  was 
not  afraid,  and  he  answered  me  like  a  seraph.     I  felt  remorse." 

"  Well,  I  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  St.  Barbe," 


ENDTMION.  133 

said  Myra  to  Endymion.  "  Strange  as  he  is,  he  seemed  quite 
familiar  to  me,  and  he  was  so  full  of  himself  that  he  never 
found  me  out.  I  hope  some  day  to  know  Mr.  Trenchard  and 
Mr.  Waldershare.  Those  I  look  upon  as  your  chief  friends." 
On  the  following  afternoon,  Adriana,  Myra,  and  Endymion 
took  a  long  walk  together  in  the  forest.  The  green  glades  in 
the  autumnal  woods  were  inviting,  and  sometimes  they  stood 
before  the  vast  form  of  some  doddered  oak.  The  air  was  fresh 
and  the  sun  was  bright.  Adriana  was  always  gay  and  happy 
in  the  company  of  her  adored  Myra,  and  her  happiness  and  her 
gayety  were  not  diminished  by  the  presence  of  Myra's  brother. 
So  it  was  a  lively  and  pleasant  walk. 

At  the  end  of  a  long  glade  they  observed  a  horseman  fol- 
lowed by  a  groom  approaching  them.  Endymion  was  some 
little  way  behind,  gathering  wild-flowers  for  Adriana.  Canter- 
ing along,  the  cavalier  soon  reached  them,  and  then  he  suddenly 
pulled  up  his  horse.     It  was  Colonel  Albert. 

"You  are  walking,  ladies:  Permit  me  to  join  you,"  and  he 
was  by  their  side.  "  I  delight  in  forests  and  in  green  alleys," 
said  Colonel  Albert.  "  Two  wandering  nymphs  make  the 
scene  perfect." 

"We  are  not  alone,"  said  Adriana,  "but  our  guardian  is 
picking  some  wild-flowers  for  us,  which  we  fancied.  I  think 
it  is  time  to  return.  You  are  going  to  Hainault,  I  believe, 
Colonel  Albert,  so  we  can  all  walk  home  together." 

So  they  turned,  and  Endymion  with  his  graceful  offering  in 
a  moment  met  them.  Full  of  his  successful  quest,  he  offered 
with  eager  triumph  the  flowers  to  Adriana,  without  casting  a 
glance  at  her  new  companion. 

"  Beautiful ! "  exclaimed  Adriana,  and  she  stopped  to  admire 
and  arrange  them.  "  See,  dear  Myra,  is  not  this  lovely?  How 
superior  to  anything  in  our  glass-houses." 

Myra  took  the  flower  and  examined  it.  Colonel  Albert  was 
silent,  and  watching  all  this  time  Endymion  with  intentness, 
who  now  looked  up  and  encountered  the  gaze  of  the  new- 
comer. Their  eyes  met,  their  countenances  were  agitated,  they 
seemed  perplexed,  and  then  it  seemed  that  at  the  same  time 
both  extended  their  hands. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  met,"  said  Colonel  Albert,  and  he 
retained  the  hand  of  Endymion  with  affection.  But  Endymion, 
who  was  apparently  much  moved,  said  nothing,  or  rather  only 
murmured  an  echo  to  the  remarks  of  his  new  friend.      And 


134  ENDTMION, 

then  they  all  walked  on,  but  Myra  fell  a  little  back  and  made  a 
signal  to  Endymion  to  join  her. 

"  You  never  told  me,  darling,  that  you  knew  Colonel 
Albert." 

"Colonel  Albert!"  said  Endymion,  looking  amazed,  and 
then  he  added,  "  Who  is  Colonel  Albert?" 

"  That  gentleman  before  us,"  said  Myra. 

"  That  is  the  Count  of  Otranto,  whose  fag  I  was  at  Eton." 

«  The  Count  of  Otranto!" 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Colonel  Albert  from  this  day  became  an  object  of  in- 
creased and  deeper  interest  to  Myra.  His  appearance  and 
manners  had  always  been  attractive,  and  the  mystery  con- 
nected with  him  was  not  calculated  to  diminish  curiosity  in 
his  conduct  or  fate.  But  when  she  discovered  that  he  was  the 
unseen  hero  of  her  childhood,  the  being  who  had  been  kind  to 
her  Endymion  in  what  she  had  ever  considered  the  severest 
trial  of  her  brother's  life,  had  been  his  protector  from  those 
who  would  have  oppressed  him,  and  had  cherished  him  in  the 
desolate  hour  of  his  delicate  and  tender  boyhood,  her  heart  was 
disturbed.  How  often  had  they  talked  together  of  the  Count 
of  Otranto,  and  how  often  had  they  wondered  who  he  was! 
His  memory  had  been  a  delightful  mystery  to  them  in  their 
Berkshire  solitude,  and  Myra  recalled  with  a  secret  smile  the 
numberless  and  ingenious  inquiries  by  which  she  had  endeav- 
ored to  elicit  from  her  brother  some  clew  as  to  his  friend,  or  to 
discover  some  detail  which  might  guide  her  to  a  conclusion. 
Endymion  had  known  nothing,  and  was  clear  always  that  the 
Count  of  Otranto  must  have  been,  and  was,  an  English  boy. 
And  now  the  Count  of  Otranto  called  himself  Colonel  Albert, 
and  though  he  persisted  in  speaking  English,  had  admitted  to 
Mrs.  Ncuchatel  that  he  was  a  foreigner. 

Who  was  he?  She  resolved,  when  she  had  an  opportunity, 
to  speak  to  the  great  banker  on  the  subject. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Neuchatel,"  she  said,  "  that  Endymion, 
my  brother,  was  at  school  with  Colonel  Albert? " 

"  Ah,  ah !  "  said  Mr.  Neuchatel. 

"  But  when  he  was  at  school  he  had  another  name,"  said 
Myra. 

"  Oh,  oh!  "  said  Mr.  Neuchatel. 


ENDTMION,  135 

"  He  was  then  called  the  Count  of  Otranto." 

"  That  is  a  very  pretty  name,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel. 

"  But  why  did  he  change  it? "  asked  Myra. 

"  The  great  world  often  change  their  names,"  said  Mr.  Neu- 
chatel. "  It  is  only  poor  City  men  like  myself  who  are  always 
called  Mr.,  and  bear  the  same  name  as  their  fathers." 

"  But  when  a  person  is  called  a  count  when  he  is  a  boy,  he 
is  seldom  called  only  a  colonel  when  he  is  a  man,"  said  Myra. 
"  There  is  a  great  mystery  in  all  this." 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  "  if  he  were . 
to  change  his  name  again  before  this  time  next  year." 

"Why?"  asked  Myra. 

"  Well,  when  I  have  read  all  his  papers  in  Bishopsgate  Street 
perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  and 
Myra  felt  that  she  could  pursue  the  theme  no  further. 

She  expected  that  Endymion  would  in  time  be  able  to  obtain 
this  information,  but  it  was  not  so.  In  their  first  private  con- 
versation after  their  meeting  in  the  forest,  Endymion  had  in- 
formed Colonel  Albert  that,  though  they  had  met  now  for  the 
first  time  since  his  return,  they  had  been  for  some  time  lodgers 
in  London  under  the  same  roof.  Colonel  Albert  smiled  when 
Endymion  told  him  this;  then  falling  into  thought,  he  said: 
"  I  hope  we  may  often  meet,  but  for  the  moment  it  may  be  as 
well  that  the  past  should  be  known  only  to  ourselves.  I  wish 
my  life  for  the  present  to  be  as  private  as  I  can  arrange  it. 
There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  be  sometimes  together 
— that  is,  when  you  have  leisure.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  making 
your  acquaintance  at  my  banker's." 

Parliament  had  been  dissolved  through  the  demise  of  the 
crown  in  the  summer  of  this  year  (1837),  and  London  society 
had  been  prematurely  broken  up.  Waldershare  had  left  town 
early  in  July  to  secure  -his  election,  in  which  he  was  successful, 
with  no  intention  of  settling^  ag^ain  in  his  old  haunts  till  the 
meeting  of  the  new  House  of  Commons,  which  was  to  be  in 
November.  The  Rodneys  were  away  at  some  Kentish  water- 
ing-place during  August  and  September,  exhibiting  to  an  ad- 
miring world  their  exquisitely  made  dresses,  and  enjoying  them- 
selves amazingly  at  balls  and  assemblies  at  the  public  rooms. 
The  resources  of  private  society  also  were  not  closed  to  them. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gamme  were  also  there  and  gave  immense 
dinners,  and  the  airy  Mrs.  Hooghley,  who  laughed  a  little  at 
the  Gammes'  substantial  gatherings  and  herself  improvised 
charming  picnics.     So  there  was  really  little  embarrassment  in 


136  ENDTMION. 

the  social  relations  between  Colonel  Albert  and  Endymion. 
They  resolved  themselves  chiefly  into  arranging  joint  expedi- 
tions to  Hainault.  Endymion  had  a  perpetual  invitation  there, 
and  it  seemed  that  the  transactions  betvs^een  Mr.  Neuchatel 
and  the  colonel  required  much  conference,  for  the  banker  al- 
ways expected  him,  although  it  was  well  known  that  they  met 
not  unfrequently  in  Bishopsgate  Street  in  the  course  of  the 
week.  Colonel  Albert  and  Endymion  always  stayed  at  Hain- 
ault from  Saturday  till  Monday.  It  delighted  the  colonel  to 
mount  Endymion  on  one  of  his  choice  steeds,  and  his  former 
fag  enjoyed  all  this  amazingly. 

Colonel  Albert  became  domiciled  at  Hainault.  The  rooms 
which  were  occupied  by  him  v/hen  there  were  always  re- 
served for  him.  He  had  a  general  invitation,  and  might  leave 
his  luggage  and  papers  and  books  behind  him.  It  was  evident 
that  the  family  pleased  him.  Between  Mr.  Neuchatel  and 
himself  there  were  obviously  affairs  of  great  interest;  but  it 
was  equally  clear  that  he  liked  the  female  members  of  the 
family — all  of  them ;  and  all  liked  him.  And  yet  it  cannot  be 
said  that  he  was  entertaining,  but  there  are  some  silent  people 
who  are  more  interesting  than  the  best  talkers.  And  when 
he  did  speak  he  always  said  the  right  thing.  His  manners 
were  tender  and  gentle;  he  had  an  unobtrusive  sympathy 
with  all  they  said  or  did,  except,  indeed,  and  that  was  not 
rarely,  when  he  was  lost  in  profound  abstraction. 

"  I  delight  in  your  friend  the  colonel,  Adrian,"  said  Mrs. 
Neuchatel,  "  but  I  must  say  he  is  very  absent." 

"  He  has  a  good  deal  to  think  about,"  said   Mr.  Neuchatel. 

"  I  wonder  what  it  can  be,"  thought  Myra. 

"  He  has  a  claim  to  a  great  estate,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel, 
"and  he  has  to  think  of  the  best  mode  of  establishing  it;  aiid 
he  has  been  deprived  of  great  honors,  and  he  believes  un- 
justly, and  he  wishes  to  regain  them." 

"  No  wonder,  then,  he  is  absent,"  said  Mrs.  Neuchatel.  "  If 
he  only  knew  what  a  burden  great  wealth  was,  I  am  sure 
he  would  not  wish  to  possess  it,  and  as  for  honors  I  never 
could  make  out  why  having  a  title  or  a  ribbon  could  make 
any  difference  in  a  human  being." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  Emily,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel.  "  Great 
wealth  is  a  great  blessing  to  a  man  who  knows  what  to  do 
with  it,  and  as  for  honors,  they  arc  inestimable  to  the 
honorable." 

"  Well,  I  ardently  hope  Colonel  Albert  may  succeed,"  said 


ENDTMIOJS/,  137 

Myra,  "  because  he  was  so  kind  to  my  brother  at  Eton.  He 
must  have  a  good  heart." 

"  They  say  he  is  the  most  unscrupulous  of  living  men,"  said 
Mr.  NeuchateJ,  w^ith  his  peculiar  smile. 

"  Good  heavens! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Neuchatel. 

"  How  terrible ! "  said  Adriana.     "  It  cannot  be  true." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  the  most  determined,"  said  Myra.  "  Moral 
courage  is  the  rarest  of  qualities,  and  often  maligned." 

"  Well,  he  has  got  a  champion,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel. 

"  I  ardently  wish  him  success,"  said  Myra,  "  in  all  his  under- 
takings.    I  only  wish  I  knew  what  they  were." 

"Has  he  not  told  your  brother.  Miss  Ferrars?"  asked  Mr. 
Neuchatel,  with  laughing  eyes. 

"  He  never  speaks  of  himself  to  Endymion,"  said  Myra. 

"  He  speaks  a  good  deal  of  himself  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Neu- 
chatel ;  "  and  he  is  going  to  bring  a  friend  here  to-morrow,  who 
knows  more  about  his  affairs  even  than  I  do.  So  you  will 
have  a  very  good  opportunity.  Miss  Ferrars,  of  making  your- 
self acquainted  with  them,  particularly  if  you  sit  next  to  him  at 
dinner,  and  are  very  winning." 

The  friend  of  Colonel  Albert  was  Baron  Sergius,  the  baron 
who  used  to  visit  him  in  London  at  twilight  in  a  dark  brougham. 
Mrs.  Neuchatel  was  greatly  taken  by  his  appearance,  by  the 
calmness  of  his  mien,  his  unstudied  politeness,  and  his  measured 
voice.  He  conversed  with  her  entirely  at  dinner  on  German  phi- 
losophy, of  which  he  seemed  a  complete  master,  explained  to  her 
the  different  schools,  and  probably  the  successful  ones,  and  im- 
parted to  her  that  precise  knowledge  which  she  required  on  the 
subject,  and  which  she  had  otherwise  been  unable  to  obtain.  It 
seemed,  too,  that  he  personally  knew  all  the  famous  professors, 
and  he  intimated  their  doctrines  not  only  with  profound  criti- 
cism, but  described  their  persons  and  habits  with  vividness  and 
picturesque  power,  never,  however,  all  this  time,  by  any  chance 
raising  his  voice,  the  tones  of  which  were  ever  distinct  and  a 
little  precise. 

"  Is  this  the  first  visit  of  your  friend  to  this  country  ?"  asked 
Myra  of  Colonel  Albert. 

"  Oh  no;  he  has  been  here  often — and  everywhere,"  added 
Colonel  Albert. 

"Everywhere!  he  must  be  a  most  interesting  companion 
then." 

"  I  find  him  so :  I  never  knew  any  one  whom  I  thought 
equal  to  him.     But  perhaps  I  am  not  an  impartial  judge,  for  I 


138  END  r MI  ON, 

have  known  him  so  long  and  so  intimately.  In  fact,  I  have 
never  been  out  of  his  sight  till  I  was  brought  over  to  this 
country  to  be  placed  at  Eton.  He  is  the  counsellor  of  our 
family,  and  we  all  of  us  have  ever  agreed  that  if  his  advice  had 
been  always  followed  we  should  never  have  had  a  calamity." 

"  Indeed,  a  gifted  person!     Is  he  a  soldier?" 

"No;  Baron  Sergius  has  not  followed  the  profession  of 
arms." 

"  He  looks  a  diplomatist." 

**  Well,  he  is  now  nothing  but  my  friend,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  He  might  have  been  anything,  but  he  is  a  peculiarly 
domestic  character,  and  is  devoted  to  private  life." 

"  You  are  fortunate  in  such  a  friend." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  be  fortunate  in  something,"  said  Colonel 
Albert. 

"  And  are  you  not  fortunate  in  everything? " 

"  I  have  not  that  reputation ;  but  I  shall  be  more  than  fortu- 
nate if  I  have  your  kind  wishes." 

"  That  you  have,"  said  Myra,  rather  eagerly.  "  My  brother 
taught  me  even  as  a  child,  to  wish  nothing  but  good  for  you. 
I  wish  I  knew  only  what  I  was  to  wish  for." 

"  Wish  that  my  plans  may  succeed,"  said  Colonel  Albert, 
looking  round  to  her  with  interest. 

"  I  will  more  than  wish,"  said  Myra;  "  I  will  believe  that 
they  will  succeed,  because  I  think  you  have  resolved  to 
succeed." 

I  shall  tell  Endymion  when  I  see  him,"  said  Coloned  Albert, 
"  that  his  sister  is  the  only  person  who  has  read  my  character." 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Colonel  Albert  and  Baron  Sergius  drove  up  in  their 
landau  from  Hainault  while  Endymion  was  at  the  door  in 
Warwick  Street,  returning  home.  The  colonel  saluted  him 
cordially,  and  said,  "  The  baron  is  going  to  take  a  cup  of  coffee 
with  me;  join  us."  So  they  went  up-stairs.  There  was  a 
packet  on  the  table  which  seemed  to  catch  the  colonel's  eye  im- 
mediately, and  he  at  once  opened  it  with  eagerness.  It  con- 
tained many  foreign  newspapers.  Without  waiting  for  the 
servant  who  was  about  to  bring  candles,  the  colonel  lighted  a 
taper  on  the  table  with  a  lucifer,  and  then  withdrew  into  an 
adjoining  chamber,  opening,  however,  with  folding-doors  to  the 
principal  and  spacious  apartment. 


ENDTMION. 


139 


"  A  foreign  newspaper  always  interests  our  friend,"  said  the 
baron,  taking  his  coffee. 

"  Well,  it  must  always  be  interesting  to  have  news  from 
home,  I  suppose,"  said  Endymion. 

"  Home !"  said  the  baron.  "  News  is  always  interesting^ 
whether  it  come  from  home  or  not." 

"  To  public  men,"  said  Endymion,  sipping  his  coffee. 

"  To  all  men  if  they  be  wise,"  said  the  baron ;  "  as  a  general 
imle,  the  most  successful  man  in  life  is  the  man  who  has  the 
best  information." 

"  But  what  a  rare  thing  is  success  in  life,"  said  Endmyion. 
"  I  often  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  step  out  of  the 
crowd." 

"  You  may  have  success  in  life  without  stepping  out  of  the 
crowd,"  said  the  baron. 

"  A  sort  of  success,"  said  Endymion ;  "  I  know  what  you 
mean.  But  what  I  mean  is  real  success  in  life.  I  mean  I 
should  like  to  be  a  public  man." 

"  Why  ?"  asked  the  baron. 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  have  power,"  said  Endymion,  blush- 
ing. 

"  The  most  powerful  men  are  not  public  men,"  said  the 
baron.  "  A  public  man  is  responsible,  and  a  responsible  man 
is  a  slave.  It  is  private  life  that  governs  the  world.  You  will 
find  this  out  some  day.  The  world  talks  much  of  powerful 
sovereigns  and  great  ministers;  and  if  being  talked  about 
made  one  powerful,  they  v^ould  be  irresistible.  But  the  fact 
is  the  more  you  are  talked  about  the  less  powerful  you  are." 

"  But  surely  King  Luitbrand  is  a  powerful  monarch ;  they 
say  he  is  the  wisest  of  men.  And  the  Emperor  Harold,  who 
has  succeeded  in  everything.  And  as  for  ministers,  who  is  a 
great  man  if  it  be  not  Prince  Wenceslaus?" 

"  King  Luitbrand  is  governed  by  his  doctor,  who  is  capable  of 
governing  Europe,  but  has  no  ambition  that  way ;  the  Emperor 
Harold  is  directed  by  his  mistress,  who  is  a  woman  of  a  cer- 
tain age  with  a  vast  sagacity,  but  who  also  believes  in  sor- 
cery; and  as  for  Prince  Wenceslaus,  he  is  inspired  by  an 
individual  as  obscure  as  ourselves,  and  who,  for  aught  I  know, 
may  be,  at  this  moment,  like  ourselves,  drinking  a  cup  of  coffee 
in  a  hired  lodging." 

"  What  you  say  about  public  life  amazes  me,"  said  Endy- 
mion, musingly. 

"  Think  over  it,"  said  the  baron.     "  As  an  Englishman,  you 


I40  ENDTMIOA. 

will  have  difficulty  in  avoiding  public  life.  But  at  any  rate  do 
not  at  present  be  discontented  that  you  are  unknown.  It  is 
the  first  condition  of  real  power.  When  you  have  succeeded 
in  life  according  to  your  views,  and  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
you  will  so  succeed,  you  will,  some  day,  sigh  for  real  power, 
and  denounce  the  time  when  you  became  a  public  man  and 
belonged  to  any  one  but  yourself.  But  our  friend  calls  me. 
He  has  found  something  startling.  I  will  venture  to  say,  if 
there  be  anything  in  it,  it  has  been  brought  about  by  some  indi- 
vidual of  whom  you  never  heard." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

With  the  assembling  of  Parliament  in  November  recom- 
menced the  sittings  of  the  Union  Society,  of  which  Endymion 
had  for  some  time  been  a  member,  and  of  whose  meetings  he 
was  a  constant  and  critical,  though  silent,  attendant.  There 
was  a  debate  one  night  on  the  government  of  dependencies, 
which,  although  all  reference  to  existing  political  circumstances 
was  rigidly  prohibited,  no  doubt  had  its  origin  in  the  critical 
state  of  one  of  our  most  important  colonies,  then  much  em- 
barrassing the  metropolis.  The  subject  was  one  which  Endy- 
mion had  considered,  and  on  which  he  had  arrived  at  certain 
conclusions.  The  meeting  was  fully  attended,  and  the  debate 
had  been  conducted  with  a  gravity  becoming  the  theme. 
Endymion  was  sitting  on  a  back  bench,  and  with  no  compan- 
ion near  him  with  whom  he  was  acquainted,  when  he  rose  and 
solicited  the  attention  of  the  president.  Another  and  a  well- 
known  speaker  had  also  risen  and  been  called ;  but  there  was  a 
•cry  of  "  New  member,"  a  courteous  cry  borrowed  from  the 
House  of  Commons,  and  Endymion  for  the  first  time  heard  his 
own  voice  in  public.  He  has  since  admitted,  though  he  has 
been  through  many  trying  scenes,  that  it  was  the  most  nervous 
moment  of  his  life.  "  After  Calais,"  as  a  wise  wit  said, 
"nothing  surprises;"  and  the  first  time  a  man  speaks  in  public, 
even  if  only  at  a  debating-society,  is  also  the  unequalled  inci- 
dent in  its  way.  The  indulgence  of  the  audience  supported  him 
while  the  mist  cleared  from  his  vision,  and  his  palpitating  heart 
subsided  into  comparative  tranquillity.  After  a  few  pardonable 
incoherences,  he  was  launched  into  his  subject,  and  spoke  with 
the  thoughtful  fluency  which  knowledge  alone  can  sustain. 
For  knowledge  is  the  foundation  of  eloquence. 


ENDTMION. 


141 


"  What  a  good-looking  young  fellow ! "  whispered  Miv 
Bertie  Tremaine  to  his  brother  Mr.  Tremaine  Bertie.  The 
Bertie  Tremaines  were  the  two  greatest  swells  of  the  Union^ 
and  had  a  party  of  their  own.     "  And  he  speaks  well." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Tremaine  Bertie  of  their  other 
neighbor. 

"  He  is  a  clerk  in  the  Treasury,  I  believe,  or  something  of 
that  sort,"  was  the  reply. 

"I  never  saw  such  a  good-looking  young-fellow,"  said  Mr. 
Bertie  Tremaine.  "  He  is  worth  getting  hold  of.  I  shall  ask 
to  be  introduced  to  him  when  we  break  up." 

Accordingly,  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  who  was  always  playing 
at  politics,  and  who,  being  two  and  twenty,  was  discontented 
he  was  not  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  like  Mr.  Pitt,  whis- 
pered to  a  gentleman  who  sat  behind  him,  and  was,  in  short, 
the  whip  of  his  section,  and  signified,  as  a  minister  of  state 
would,  that  an  introduction  to  Mr.  Ferrars  should  be  arranged. 

So  when  the  meeting  broke  up,  of  which  Mr.  Ferrars's 
maiden  speech  was  quite  the  event,  and  while  he  was  contem- 
plating, not  without  some  fair  self-complacency,  walking  home 
with  Trenchard,  Endymion  found  himself  encompassed  by  a 
group  of  bowing  forms  and  smiling  countenances,  and  almost 
before  he  was  aware  of  it,  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  great 
Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  and  received,  not  only  the  congratula- 
tions of  that  gentleman,  but  an  invitation  to  dine  with  him  on 
the  morrow,  "  quite  sans  facon^"* 

Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  who  had  early  succeeded  to  the  family 
estate,  lived  in  Grosvenor  Street,  and  in  becoming  style.  His 
house  was  furnished  with  luxury  and  some  taste.  The  host 
received  his  guests  in  a  library  well  stored  with  political  history 
and  political  science,  and  adorned  with  the  busts  of  celebrated 
statesmen  and  of  profound  political  sages.  Bentham  was  the 
philosojoher  then  affected  by  young  gentlemen  of  ambition,  and 
who  wished  to  have  credit  for  profundity  and  hard  heads.  Mr. 
Bertie  Tremaine  had  been  the  proprietor  of  a  close  borough, 
which  for  several  generations  had  returned  his  family  to  Parlia- 
ment, the  faithful  supporters  of  Pitt  and  Perceval  and  Liverpool, 
and  he  had  contemplated  following  the  same  line,  though  with 
larger  and  higher  objects  than  his  ancestors.  Being  a  man  of 
considerable  and  versatile  ability,  and  of  ample  fortune,  with 
the  hereditary  opportunity  which  he  possessed,  he  had  a  right 
to  aspire,  and  as  his  vanity  more  than  equalled  his  talents,  his 
estimate  of  his  own  career  was  not  mean.     Unfortunately,  be- 


142  ENDTMION, 

fore  he  left  Harrow,  he  was  deprived  of  his  borough,  and  this 
catastrophe  eventually  occasioned  a  considerable  change  in  the 
views  and  conduct  of  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine.  In  the  confusion 
of  parties  and  political  thought  which  followed  the  Reform  Act 
of  Lord  Grey,  an  attempt  to  govern  the  country  by  the 
assertion  of  abstract  principles,  and  which  it  was  now  beginning 
to  be  the  fashion  to  call  Liberalism,  seemed  the  only  opening 
to  public  life,  and  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  who  piqued  himself 
on  recognizing  the  spirit  of  the  age,  adopted  Liberal  opinions 
with  that  youthful  fervor  w^hich  is  sometimes  called  enthusiasm, 
but  which  is  a  heat  of  imagination  subsequently  discovered  to 
be  inconsistent  with  the  experience  of  actual  life.  At  Cam- 
bridge Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  was  at  first  the  solitary  pupil  of 
Bentham,  whose  principles  he  was  prepared  to  carry  to  their 
extreme  consequences,  but  being  a  man  of  energy  and  in 
possession  of  a  good  estate,  he  soon  found  followers,  for  the 
sympathies  of  youth  are  quick,  and,  even  with  an  original  bias, 
it  is  essentially  mimetic.  When  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  left  the 
university  he  found  in  the  miscellaneous  elements  of  the  Lon- 
don Union  many  of  his  former  companions  of  school  and 
college,  and  from  them,  and  the  new  world  to  which  he  was 
introduced,  it  delighted  him  to  form  parties  and  construct  im- 
aginary cabinets.  His  brother  Augustus,  who  was  his  junior 
only  by  a  year,  and  was  destined  to  be  a  diplomatist,  was  an 
efficient  assistant  in  these  enterprises,  and  was  one  of  the  guests 
who  greeted  Endymion  when  he  arrived  next  day  in  Grosvenor 
Street,  according  to  his  engagement.  The  other  three  were 
Hortensius,  the  whip  of  the  party,  and  Mr.  Trenchard. 

The  dinner  was  refined,  for  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  combined 
the  Sybarite  with  the  Utilitarian  sage,  and  it  secretly  delighted 
him  to  astonish  or  embarrass  an  austere  brother  republican  by 
the  splendor  of  his  family  plate  or  the  polished  appointments 
of  his  household.  To-day  the  individual  to  be  influenced  was 
Endymion,  and  the  host,  acting  up  to  his  ideal  of  a  first  minis- 
ter, addressed  questions  to  his  companions  on  the  subjects 
which  were  peculiarly  their  own,  and  after  eliciting  their  re- 
marks, continued  or  completed  the  treatment  of  the  theme 
with  adequate  ability,  though  in  a  manner  authoritative,  and, 
as  Endymion  thought,  a  little  pompous.  What  amused  him 
most  in  this  assemblage  of  youth  was  their  earnest  aflfectation 
of  public  life.  The  freedom  of  their  comments  on  others  was 
only  equalled  by  their  confidence  in  themselves.  Endymion, 
who  only  spoke  when  he  was  appealed  to,  had  casually  re- 


ENDTMION,  143 

marked  in  answer  to  one  of  the  observations  which  his  host 
with  elaborate  politeness  occasionally  addressed  to  him,  that  he 
thought  it  was  unpatriotic  to  take  a  certain  course.  Mr.  Bertie 
Tremaine  immediately  drew  up,  and  said,  with  a  deep  smile, 
"  That  he  comprehended  philanthropy,  but  patriotism  he  con- 
fessed he  did  not  understand."  And  thereupon  delivered  him- 
self of  an  address  on  the  subject  which  might  have  been  made  in 
the  Union,  and  which  communicated  to  the  astonished  Endy- 
mion  that  patriotism  was  a  fcilse  idea,  and  entirely  repugnant  to 
the  principles  of  the  new  philosophy.  As  all  present  were 
more  or  less  impregnated  with  these  tenets,  there  was  no  con- 
troversy on  the  matter.  Endymion  remained  discreetly  silent, 
and  Augustus — Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine's  brother — who  sat  next 
to  him,  and  whose  manners  were  as  sympathizing  as  his 
brother's  were  autocratic,  whispered  in  a  wheedling  tone  that 
it  was  quite  true,  and  that  the  idea  of  patriotism  was  entirely 
relinquished,  except  by  a  few  old-fashioned  folks  who  clung  to 
superstitious  phrases.  Hortensius,  who  seemed  to  be  the  only 
one  of  the  company  who  presumed  to  meet  Mr.  Bertie  Tre- 
maine in  conversation  on  equal  terms,  and  who  had "  already 
astonished  Endymion  by  what  that  inexperienced  youth 
deemed  the  extreme  laxity  of  his  views,  both  social  and  politi- 
cal, evinced,  more  than  once,  a  disposition  to  deviate  into  the 
lighter  topics  of  feminine  character,  and  even  the  fortunes  of 
the  hazard-table ;  but  the  host  looked  severe,  and  was  evidently 
resolved  that  the  conversation  to-day  should  resemble  the  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance.  After  dinner  they  returned  to 
the  library,  and  most  of  them  smoked,  but  Mr.  Bertie  Tre- 
maine, inviting  Endymion  to  seat  himself  by  his  side  on  the 
sofa  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  observed,  "  I  suppose  you 
are  looking  to  Parliament?" 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  somewhat  startled  Endy- 
mion ;  "  I  have  not  thought  much  about  it,  and  I  have  not  yet 
reached  a  parliamentary  age." 

"  A  man  cannot  enter  Parliament  too  soon,"  said  Mr.  Bertie 
Tremaine ;  "  I  hope  to  enter  this  session.  There  will  be  a 
certain  vacancy  on  a  petition,  and  I  have  arranged  to  have  the 
seat." 

"Indeed!"  said  Endymion.  "  My  father  was  in  Parliament, 
and  so  was  my  grandfather,  but  I  confess  I  do  not  very  well 
see  my  way  there." 

"  You  must  connect  yourself  with  a  party,"  said  Mr.  Bertie 
Tremaine,  "and  you  will  soon  enter;  and  being  young,  you 


144  END  r MI  ON. 

should  connect  yourself  with  the  party  of  the  future.  The 
country  is  wearied  with  the  present  men,  who  have  no  philo- 
sophical foundation,  and  are  therefore  perpetually  puzzled  and 
inconsistent,  and  the  country  will  not  stand  the  old  men,  as  it 
is  resolved  against  retrogression.  The  party  of  the  future  and 
of  the  speedy  future  has  its  headquarters  under  this  roof,  and  I 
should  like  to  see  you  belong  to  it." 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  murmured  Endymion. 

"  Yes,  I  see  in  you  the  qualities  adapted  to  public  life,  and 
which  may  be  turned  to  great  account.  I  must  get  you  into 
Parliament  as  soon  as  you  are  eligible,"  continued  Mr.  Bertie 
Tremaine  in  a  musing  tone.  "  This  death  of  the  king  was  very 
inopportune.  If  he  had  reigned  a  couple  of  years  more,  I  saw 
my  way  to  half  a  dozen  seats,  and  I  could  have  arranged  with 
Lord  Durham." 

"  That  was  unfortunate,"  said  Endymion. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Hortensius  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Bertie 
Tremaine. 

"  I  think  him  the  most  brilliant  speaker  I  know,"  said  En- 
dymion, ."  I  never  met  him  in  private  society  before;  he  talks 
well." 

"  He  wants  conduct,"  said  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine.  "  He 
ought  to  be  my  Lord  Chancellor,  but  there  is  a  tone  of  levity 
about  him  which  is  unfortunate.  Men  destined  to  the  highest 
places  should  beware  of  badinage." 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  dangerous  weapon." 

"  All  lawyers  are  loose  in  their  youth,  but  an  insular  coun- 
try subject  to  fogs,  and  with  a  powerful  middle  class,  requires 
grave  statesmen.  I  attribute  a  great  deal  of  the  nonsense 
called  Conservative  reaction  to  Peel-s  solemnity.  The  proper 
minister  for  England  at  this  moment  would  be  Pitt.  Ex- 
treme youth  gives  hope  to  a  country;  coupled  with  ceremo- 
nious manners,  hope  soon  assumes  the  form  of  confidence." 

"Ah!"  murmured  Endymion. 

"  I  had  half  a  mind  to  ask  Jawett  to  dinner  to-day.  His 
powers  are  unquestionable,  but  he  is  not  a  practical  man.  For 
instance,  I  think  myself  our  colonial  empire  is  a  mistake,  and 
that  we  should  disembarrass  ourselves  of  its  burden  as  rapidly 
as  is  consistent  with  the  dignity  of  the  nation;  but  were  Jawett 
in  the  House  of  Commons  to-morrow,  nothing  would  satisfy 
him  but  a  resolution  for  the  total  and  immediate  abolition  of 
the  empire,  with  a  preamble  denouncing  the  folly  of  our 
fathers  in  creating  it.    Jawett  never  spares  any  one's  self-love." 


END  r Ml  ON,  M5 

"I  know  him  very  -well,"  said  Endymion;  "he  is  in  my 
office.     He  is  very  uncompromising." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  musingly,  "  if  I  had  to 
form  a  government,  I  could  hardly  offer  him  the  cabinet." 
Then  speaking  more  rapidly,  he  added,  "  The  man  you  should 
attach  yourself  to  is  my  brother  Augustus — Mr.  Tremaine 
Bertie."  There  is  no  man  who  understands  foreign  politics 
like  Augustus,  and  he  is  a  thorough  man  of  the  world." 


CHAPTER  XXXVni. 

When  Parliament  reassembled  in  February,  the  Neuchatels 
quitted  Hainault  for  their  London  residence  in  Portland  Place. 
Mrs.  Neuchatcl  was  sadly  troubled  at  leaving  her  country 
home,  which,  notwithstanding  its  distressing  splendor,  had  still 
some  forms  of  compensatory  innocence  in  its  flowers  and  sylvan 
glades.  Adriana  sighed  when  she  called  to  mind  the  mainfold 
and  mortifying  snares  and  pitfalls  that  awaited  her,  and  had 
even  framed  a  highly  practical  and  sensible  scheme  which  would 
permit  her  parents  to  settle  in  town  and  allow  Myra  and  herself 
to  remain  permanently  in  the  country;  but  Myra  brushed 
away  the  project  like  a  fly,  and  Adriana  yielding,  embraced  her 
with  tearful  eyes. 

The  Neuchatel  mansion  in  Portland  Place  was  one  of  the 
noblest  in  that  comely  quarter  of  the  town,  and  replete  with 
every  charm  and  convenience  that  wealth  and  taste  could  pro- 
vide. Myra,  who  like  her  brother  had  a  tenacious  memory, 
was  interested  in  recalling  as  fully  and  as  accurately  as  possible 
her  previous  experience  of  London  life.  She  was  then  indeed 
only  a  child,  but  a  child  who  was  often  admitted  to  brilliant 
circles,  and  had  enjoyed  opportunities  of  social  observation 
which  the  very  youthful  seldom  possess.  Her  retrospection 
was  not  as  profitable  as  she  could  have  desired,  and  she  was 
astonished,  after  a  severe  analysis  of  the  past,  to  find  how  en- 
tirely at  that  early  age  she  appeared  to  have  been  engrossed 
with  herself  and  Endymion.  Hill  Street  and  Wimbledon,  and 
all  their  various  life,  figured  as  shadowy  scenes;  she  could  re- 
alize nothing  very  definite  for  her  present  guidance;  the  past 
seemed  a  phantom  of  fine  dresses  and  bright  equipages  and 
endless  indulgence.  All  that  had  happened  after  their  fall  was 
distinct  and  full  of  meaning.  It  would  seem  that  adversity 
had  taught  Myra  to  feel  and  think. 


146  END1MI0N, 

Forty  years  ago  the  great  financiers  had  not  that  command- 
ing, not  to  say  predominant,  position  in  society  which  they 
possess  at  present,  but  the  Neuchatels  were  an  exception  to  this 
general  condition.  They  were  a  family  which  not  only  had 
the  art  of  accumulating  wealth,  but  of  expending  it  with  taste 
and  generosity — an  extremely  rare  combination.  Their  great 
riches,  their  political  influence,  their  high  integrity,  and  their 
social  accomplishments  combined  to  render  their  house  not 
only  splendid,  but  interesting  and  agreeable,  and  gave  them  a 
great  hold  upon  the  world.  At  first  the  fine  ladies  of  their 
political  party  called  on  them  as  a  homage  of  condescending 
gratitude  for  the  public  support  which  the  Neuchatel  family 
gave  to  their  sons  and  husbands,  but  they  soon  discovered  that 
this  amiable  descent  from  their  Olympian  heights  on  their  part 
did  not  amount  exactly  to  the  sacrifice  or  service  which  they 
had  contemplated.  They  found  their  hosts  as  refined  as  them- 
selves, and  much  more  magnificent;  and  in  a  very  short  time 
it  was  not  merely  the  wives  of  ambassadors  and  ministers  of 
state  that  were  found  at  the  garden  fetes  of  Hainault,  or  the 
balls  and  banquets  and  concerts  of  Portland  Place,  but  the 
fitful  and  capricious  realm  of  fashion  surrendered  like  a  fair 
country  conquered,  as  it  were,  by  surprise.  To  visit  the  Neu- 
chatels became  the  mode;  all  solicited  to  be  their  guests,  and 
some  solicited  in  vain. 

Although  it  was  only  February,  the  world  began  to  move, 
and  some  of  the  ministers'  wives  who  were  socially  strong 
enough  to  venture  on  such  a  step,  received  their  friends.  Mr. 
Neuchatel  particularly  liked  this  form  of  society.  "  I  cannot 
manage  balls,"  he  used  to  say,  "  but  I  like  a  ministerial  recep- 
tion. There  is  some  chance  of  sensible  conversation  and  doing 
a  little  business.  I  like  talking  with  ambassadors  after  dinner. 
Besides,  in  this  country  you  meet  the  leaders  of  the  Opposition, 
because,  as  they  are  not  invited  by  the  minister,  but  by  his 
wife,  anybody  can  come  without  committing  himself." 

Myra,  faithful  to  her  original  resolution  not  to  enter  society 
while  she  was  in  mourning,  declined  all  the  solicitations  of  her 
friends  to  accompany  them  to  these  assemblies.  Mrs.  Neu- 
chatel always  wished  Myra  should  be  her  substitute,  and  it  was 
only  at  Myra's  instance  that  Adriana  accompanied  her  parents. 
In  the  mean  time,  Myra  saw  much  of  Endymion.  He  was 
always  a  welcome  guest  to  the  family,  and  could  call  upon  his 
sister  at  all  the  odds  and  ends  of  time  that  were  at  his  com- 
mand, and  chat  with  her  at  pleasant  ease  in  her  pretty  room. 


END  r MI  ON,  147 

Sometimes  they  walked  out  together,  and  sometimes  they  went 
to  see  some  exhibition  that  everybody  went  to  see.  Adriana 
became  ahuost  as  intimate  with  Endymion  as  his  sister,  and 
altogether  the  Neuchatel  family  became  by  degrees  to  him  as 
a  kind  of  home.  Talking  with  Endymion,  Myra  heard  a  good 
deal  of  Colonel  Albert,  for  he  was  her  brother's  hero — but  she 
rarely  saw  that  gentleman.  She  was  aware  from  her  brother, 
and  from  some  occasional  words  of  Mr.  Neuchatel,  that  the 
great  banker  still  saw  Colonel  Albert  and  not  unfrequently, 
but  the  change  of  residence  from  Hainault  to  London  made  a 
difference  in  their  mode  of  communication.  Business  was 
transacted  in  Bishopsgate  Street,  and  no  longer  combined  with 
a  pleasant  ride  to  an  Essex  forest.  More  than  once  Colonel 
Albert  had  dined  in  Portland  Place,  but  at  irregular  and  mis- 
cellaneous parties.  Myra  observed  that  he  was  never  asked  to 
meet  the  grand  personages  who  attended  the  celebrated 
banquets  of  Mr.  Neuchatel.  And  why  not?  His  manners 
were  distinguished,  and  his  whole  bearing  that  of  one  accus- 
tomed to  consideration.  The  irrepressible  curiosity  of  woman 
impelled  her  once  to  feel  her  way  on  the  subject  with  Mr. 
Neuchatel,  but  with  the  utmost  dexterity  and  delicacy. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  with  a  laughing  eye,  and  who 
saw  through  everybody's  purpose,  though  his  own  manner 
was  one  of  simplicity  amounting  almost  to  innocence,  "  I  did 
not  say  Colonel  Albert  was  going  to  dine  here  on  Wednesday ; 
I  have  asked  him  to  dine  here  on  Sunday.  On  Wednesday  I 
am  going  to  have  the  premier  and  some  of  his  colleagues.  I 
must  insist  on  Miss  Ferrars  dining  at  table.  You  will  meet 
Lord  Roehampton;  all  the  ladies  admire  him  and  he  admires 
all  the  ladies.  It  will  not  do  to  ask  Colonel  Albert  to  meet 
such  a  party,  though,  perhaps,"  added  Mr.  Neuchatel,  with  a 
merry  smile,  "some  day  they  may  be  asked  to  meet  Colonel 
Albert.  Who  knows.  Miss  Ferrars.''  The  wheel  of  Fortune 
turns  round  very  strangely." 

"And  who,  then,  is  Colonel  Albert.?"  asked  Myra  with  de- 
cision. 

"  Colonel  Albert  is  Colonel  Albert,  and  nobody  else,  so  far 
as  I  know,"  replied  Mr.  Neuchatel;  "he  has  brought  a  letter 
of  credit  on  my  house  in  that  name,  and  I  am  happy  to  honor 
his  drafts  to  the  amount  in  question ;  and  as  he  is  a  foreigner,  I 
think  it  is  but  kind  and  courteous  occasionally  to  ask  him  to 
dinner." 

Miss  Ferrars  did  not  pursue  the  inquiry,  for  she  was  suffi- 


148  END  r MI  ON, 

ciently  acquainted  with  Mr.  Neuchatel  to  feel  that  he  did  not 
intend  to  gratify  her  curiosity. 

The  banquet  of  the  Neuchatels  to  the  premier  and  some  of 
the  principal  ambassadors  and  their  wives,  and  to  those  of  the 
premier's  colleagues  who  were  fashionable  enough  to  be  asked, 
and  to  some  of  the  dukes  and  duchesses  and  other  ethereal 
beings  who  supported  the  ministry,  was  the  first  event  of  the 
season.  The  table  blazed  with  rare  flowers  and  rarer  porce- 
lain and  precious  candelabra  of  sculptured  beauty  glittering 
with  light;  the  gold  plate  was  less  remarkable  than  the  deli- 
cate ware  that  had  been  alike  moulded  and  adorned  for  a  Du 
Barri  or  a  Marie  Antoinette,  and  which  now  found  a  permanent 
and  peaceful  home  in  the  proverbial  land  of  purity  and  order; 
and  amid  the  stars  and  ribbons,  not  the  least  remarkable  fea- 
ture of  the  whole  was  Mr.  Neuchatel  himself,  seated  at  the 
centre  of  his  table,  alike  free  from  ostentation  or  over-defer- 
ence, talking  to  the  great  ladies  on  each  side  of  him  as  if  he 
had  nothing  to  do  in  life  but  whisper  in  gentle  ears,  and  par- 
taking of  his  own  dainties  as  if  he  were  eating  bread  and 
cheese  at  a  country  inn. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Neuchatel  might  have  afforded  a  companion 
picture.  Partly  in  deference  to  their  host,  and  partly  because 
this  evening  the  first  dance  of  the  season  was  to  be  given,  the 
great  ladies  in  general  wore  their  diamonds,  and  Myra  was 
amused  as  she  watched  their  dazzling  tiaras  and  flashing 
rivieres,  while  not  a  single  ornament  adorned  the  graceful  pres- 
ence of  their  hostess,  who  was  more  content  to  be  brilliant 
only  by  her  conversation.  As  Mr.  Neuchatel  had  only  a  few 
days  before  presented  his  wife  with  another  diamond  necklace, 
he  might  be  excused  were  he  slightly  annoyed.  Nothing  of 
the  sort;  he  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  to  his 
nephew, "  Your  aunt  must  feel  that  I  give  her  diamonds  from 
love  and  not  from  vanity,  as  she  never  lets  me  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  them."  The  sole  ornament  of  Adriana  was  an 
orchid,  which  had  arrived  that  morning  from  Hainault,  and 
she  had  presented  its  fellow  to  Myra. 

There  was  one  lady  who  much  attracted  the  attention  of 
Myra,  interested  in  all  she  observed.  This  lady  was  evi- 
dently a  person  of  importance,  for  she  sat  between  an  ambas- 
sador and  a  knight  of  the  garter,  and  they  vied  »n  homage  to 
her.  They  watched  her  every  word,  and  seemed  delighted 
with  all  she  said.  Without  being  strictly  beautiful,  there  was 
an  expression  of  sweet  animation  in  her  physiognomy  which 


ENDTMIOJSr,  149 

was  highly  attractive ;  her  eye  was  full  of  summer  lightning, 
and  there  was  an  arch  dimple  in  her  smile,  which  seemed  to 
HTadiate  her  whole  countenance.  She  was  quite  a  young 
woman,  hardly  older  than  Myra.  What  most  distinguished 
her  was  the  harmony  of  her  whole  person ;  her  graceful  fig- 
ure, her  fair  and  finely  moulded  shoulders,  her  pretty  teeth 
and  her  small  extremities,  seemed  to  blend  with  and  become 
the  soft  vivacity  of  her  winning  glance. 

"  Lady  Montfort  looks  well  to-night, "  said  the  neighbor  of 
Myra. 

"  And  is  that  Lady  Montfort  ?  Do  you  know,  I  never  saw 
her  before  ?" 

"  Yes ;  that  is  the  famous  Berengaria,  the  Queen  of  Society 
and  the  genius  of  Whiggism." 

In  the  evening,  a  great  lady,  who  was  held  to  have  the  finest 
voice  in  society,  favored  them  with  a  splendid  specimen  of  her 
commanding  skill ;  and  then  Adriana  was  induced  to  gratify  her 
friends  with  a  song,  "  only  one  song,"  and  that  only  on  condi- 
tion that  Myra  should  accompany  her.  Miss  Neuchatel  had 
a  sweet  and  tender  voice,  and  it  had  been  finely  cultivated ;  she 
would  have  been  more  than  charming  if  she  had  only  taken 
interest  in  anything  she  herself  did,  or  believed  for  a  mo- 
ment that  she  could  interest  others.  When  she  ceased,  a  gen- 
tleman approached  the  instrument  and  addressed  her  in  terms 
of  sympathy  and  deferential  praise.  Myra  recognized  the 
knight  of  the  garter  who  had  sat  next  to  Lady  P'rankfort. 
He  was  somewhat  advanced  in  middle  life,  tall,  and  of  a 
stately  presence,  with  a  voice  more  musical  even  than  the 
tones  which  had  recently  enchanted  every  one.  His  counte- 
nance was  impressive,  a  truly  Olympian  brow,  but  the  lower 
part  of  the  face  indicated,  not  feebleness,  but  flexibility,  and 
his  mouth  was  somewhat  sensuous.  His  manner  was  at  once 
winning,  natural,  and  singularly  unaflfected,  and  seemed  to 
sympathize  entirely  with  those  whom  he  addressed. 

"  But  I  have  never  been  at  Hainault,"  said  the  gentleman, 
continuing  a  conversation,  "  and  therefore  could  not  hear  the 
nightingales.  I  am  content  to  have  brought  one  of  them  to 
town." 

"  Nightingales  disappear  in  June,"  said  Miss  Ferrars ;  "  so 
our  season  will  be  short." 

"  And  where  do  they  travel  to  ?  "  asked  the  gentleman. 

"  Ah !  that  is  a  mystery,"  said  Myra.  "  You  must  ask  Miss 
Neuchatel." 


I50  ENDTMION, 

"  But  she  will  not  tell  me,"  said  the  gentleman,  for  in  truth 
Miss  Neuchatel,  though  he  had  frequently  addressed  her,  had 
scarcely  opened  her  lips. 

"  Tell  your  secret,  Adriana,"  said  Miss  Ferrars,  trying  to 
force  her  to  converse. 

"  Adriana!  "  said  the  gentleman.  "  What  a  beautiful  name! 
You  look  like  that  flower.  Miss  Neuchatel,  like  a  bride  of 
Venice." 

"Nay,"  said  Myra;  "the  bride  of  Venice  was  a  stormy 
ocean." 

"  And  have  you  a  Venetian  name?"  asked   the  gentleman. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Miss  Neuchatel,  with  an  effort, 
murmured,  "  she  has  a  very  pretty  name.     Her  name  is  Myra." 

"  She  seems  to  deserve  it,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"  So  you  like  my  daughter's  singing ;"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel, 
coming  up  to  them.  "  She  does  not  much  like  singing  in  pub- 
lic, but  she  is  a  very  good  girl,  and  always  gives  me  a  song 
when  I  come  home  from  business." 

"  Fortunate  man,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  I  wish  somebody 
would  sing  to  me  when  I  come  home  from  business." 

"  You  should  marry,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  "  and 
get  your  wife  to  sing  to  you.  Is  it  not  so.  Miss  Ferrars.?  By- 
the-bye,  I  ought  to  introduce  you  to — Lord  Roehampton." 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

The  Earl  of  Roehampton  was  the  strongest  member  of  the 
government,  except,  of  course,  the  premier  himself.  He  was 
the  man  from  whose  combined  force  and  flexibility  of  character 
the  country  had  confidence  that  in  all  their  councils  there 
would  be  no  lack  of  courage,  yet  tempered  with  adroit  discre- 
tion. Lord  Roehampton,  though  an  Englishman,  was  an  Irish 
peer,  and  was  resolved  to  remain  so,  for  he  fully  appreciated 
the  position  which  united  social  distinction  with  the  power  of  a 
seat  in  the  House  of  Commons.  He  was  a  very  ambitious,  and, 
as  it  was  thought,  worldly  man,  deemed  even  by  many  to  be 
unscrupulous,  and  yet  he  was  romantic.  A  great  favorite  in 
society,  and  especially  with  the  softer  sex,  somewhat  late  in 
life  he  had  married  a  beautiful  woman,  who  was  without  for- 
tune, and  not  a  member  of  the  enchanted  circle  in  which  he 
flourished.  The  union  had  been  successful,  for  Lord  Roe- 
hampton was  gifted  with  a  sweet  temper,  and,  though  people 
said  he  had  no  heart,  with  a  winning  tenderness  of  disposition 


END  r MI  ON,  151 

or  at  least  of  manner  which  at  the  same  time  charmed  and 
soothed.  He  had  been  a  widower  for  two  years,  and  the  world 
was  of  opinion  that  he  ought  to  marry  again,  and  form  this 
time  a  becoming  alliance.  In  addition  to  his  many  recom- 
mendations he  had  now  the  inestimable  reputation,  which  no 
one  had  ever  contemplated  for  him,  of  having  been  a  good 
husband. 

Berengaria,  Countess  of  Montfort,  was  a  great  friend  of 
Lord  Roehampton.  She  was  accustomed  to  describe  herself 
as  "  the  last  of  hi«  conquests,"  and  though  Lord  Roehampton 
read  characters  and  purposes  with  a  glance,  and  was  too  saga- 
cious to  be  deceived  by  any  one,  even  by  himself,  his  gratified 
taste,  for  ne  scarcely  had  vanity,  cherished  the  bright  illusion 
of  which  he  was  conscious,  and  he  responded  to  Lady  Mont- 
fort half  sportively,  half  seriously,  with  an  air  of  flattered 
devotion.  Lord  Roehampton  had  inherited  an  ample  estate, 
and  he  had  generally  been  in  office;  for  he  served  his  appren- 
ticeship under  Perceval  and  Liverpool,  and  changed  his  party 
just  in  time  to  become  a  member  of  the  cabinet  of  1831.  Yet 
with  all  these  advantages,  whether  it  were  the  habit  of  his  life, 
which  was  ever  profuse,  or  that  neglect  of  his  private  interests 
which  almost  inevitably  accompanies  the  absorbing  duties  of 
public  life,  his  affairs  were  always  somewhat  confused,  and 
Lady  Montfort,  who  wished  to  place  him  on  a  pinnacle,  had 
resolved  that  he  should  marry  an  heiress.  After  long  observa- 
tion and  careful  inquiry,  and  prolonged  reflection,  the  lady  she 
had  fixed  upon  was  Miss  Neuchatel;  and  she  it  was  who  had 
made  Lord  Roehampton  cross  the  room  and  address  Adriana 
after  her  song. 

"  He  is  not  young,"  reasoned  Lady  Montfort  to  herself, "  but 
his  mind  and  manner  are  young,  and  that  is  everything.  I  am 
sure  I  meet  youth  every  day  who,  compared  with  Lord  Roe- 
hampton, could  have  no  chance  with  my  sex — men  who  can 
neither  feel,  nor  think,  nor  converse.  And  then  he  is  famous, 
and  powerful,  and  fashionable,  and  knows  how  to  talk  to 
women.  And  this  must  all  tell  with  a  banker's  daughter, 
dying,  of  course,  to  be  a  grand  dame.  It  will  do.  He  may 
not  be  young,  but  he  is  irresistible.  And  the  father  will  like 
it,  for  he  told  me  in  confidence,  at  dinner,  that  he  wished  Lord 
Roehampton  to  be  prime-minister;  and  with  this  alliance  he 
will  be." 

The  plot  being  devised  by  a  fertile  brain  never  wanting  in 
expedients,  its  development  was  skilfully  managed,  and  its  ac- 


152  END  r MI  ON, 

complishment  anticipated  with  confidence.  It  was  remarkable 
with  what  dexterity  the  Neuchatel  family  and  Lord  Roehamp- 
ton  were  brought  together.  Berengaria's  lord  and  master  was 
in  the  country,  which  he  said  he  would  not  quit;  but  this  did  not 
prevent  her  giving  delightful  little  dinners  and  holding  select 
assemblies  on  nights  when  there  was  no  dreadful  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  Lord  Roehampton  could  be  present.  On  most  occa- 
sions, and  especially  on  these  latter  ones,  Lady  Montfort  could 
not  endure  existence  without  her  dear  Adriana.  Mr.  Neuchatel, 
who  was  a  little  in  the  plot,  who  at  least  smiled  when  Berengaria 
alluded  to  her  enterprise,  was  not  wanting  in  his  contributions 
to  its  success.  He  hardly  ever  gave  one  of  his  famous  banquets 
to  which  Lord  Roehampton  was  not  invited,  and,  strange  to 
say.  Lord  Roehampton,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  some- 
what difficult  on  this  head,  always  accepted  the  invitations. 
The  crowning  social  incident,  however,  was  when  Lord  Roe- 
hampton opened  his  own  house  for  the  first  time  since  his 
widowhood,  and  received  the  Neuchatels  at  a  banquet  not  in- 
ferior to  their  own.  This  was  a  great  triumph  for  Lady  Mont- 
fort, who  thought  the  end  was  at  hand. 

"  Life  is  short,"  she  said  to  Lord  Roehampton  that  evening. 
"  Why  not  settle  it  to-night?" 

"  Well,"  said  Lord  Roehampton,  "  you  know  I  never  like 
anything  precipitate.  Besides,  why  should  the  citadel  surrender 
when  I  have  hardly  entered  on  my  first  parallel?" 

"Ah!  those  are  old-fashioned  tactics,"  said  Lady  Montfort. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  am  an  old-fashioned  man." 

"  Be  serious,  now.  I  want  it  settled  before  Easter.  I  must 
go  down  to  my  lord  then,  and  even  before;  and  I  should  like 
to  see  this  settled  before  we  separate." 

"Why  does  not  Montfort  come  up  to  town?"  said  Lord 
Roehampton.     "  He  is  wanted." 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  with  half  a  sigh,  "  it  is  no  use 
talking  about  it.  He  will  not  come.  Our  society  bores  him, 
and  he  must  be  amused.  I  write  to  him  every  day,  and  some- 
times twice  a  day,  and  pass  my  life  in  collecting  things  to  in- 
terest him.  I  would  never  leave  him  for  a  moment,  only  I 
know  that  then  he  would  get  wearied  of  me;  and  he  thinks 
now — at  least,  he  once  said  so — that  he  has  never  had  a  dull 
moment  in  my  company." 

"How  can  he  find  amusement  in  the  country?"  said  Lord 
Roehampton.  "There  is  no  sport  now,  and  a  man  cannot 
always  be  reading  French  novels." 


END  r MI  ON,  153 

"  Well,  I  send  amusing  people  down  to  him,"  said  Beren- 
garia.  "  It  is  difficult  to  arrange,  for  he  do^p  not  like  toadies, 
which  is  so  unreasonable,  for  I  know  many  toadies  who  are 
very  pleasant.  Treeby  is  with  him  now,  and  that  is  excellent, 
for  Treeby  contradicts  him,  and  is  scientific  as  well  as  fashion- 
able, and  gives  him  the  last  news  of  the  sun  as  well  as  of 
White's.  I  want  to  get  this  great  African  traveller  to  go 
down  to  him;  but  one  can  hardly  send  a  perfect  stranger  as  a 
guest.  I  wanted  Treeby  to  take  him,  but  Treeby  refused — 
men  are  so  selfish.  Treeby  could  have  left  him  there,  and  the 
traveller  might  have  remained  a  week,  told  all  he  had  seen,  and 
as  much  more  as  he  liked.  My  lord  cannot  stand  Treeby 
more  than  two  days,  and  Treeby  cannot  stand  my  lord  for  a 
longer  period,  and  that  is  why  they  are  such  friends." 

"  A  sound  basis  of  agreement,"  said  Lord  Roehampton.  "  I 
believe  absence  is  often  a  great  element  of  charm." 

"  But,  a  710S  moutons^'^  resumed  Lady  Montfort.  "  You  see 
now  why  I  am  so  anxious  for  a  conclusion  of  our  affair.  I 
think  it  is  ripe." 

"  Why  do  you?  "  said  Lord  Roehampton. 

"  Well,  she  must  be  very  much  in  love  with  you." 

"  Has  she  told  you  so?" 

"  No ;  but  she  looks  in  love." 

"  She  never  has  told  me  so,"  said  Lord  Roehampton. 

"Have  you  told  her?" 

"  Well,  I  have  not,"  said  her  companion.  "  I  like  the 
family — all  of  them.  I  like  Neuchatel  particularly.  I  like  his 
house  and  style  of  living.  You  always  meet  nice  people  there, 
and  hear  the  last  thing  that  has  been  said  or  done  all  over  the 
world.     It  is  a  house  where  you  are  sure  not  to  be  dull." 

"  You  have  described  a  perfect  home,"  said  Lady  Montfort, 
"  and  it  awaits  you," 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know,"  said  Lord  Roehampton.  "  Per- 
haps I  am  fastidious,  perhaps  I  am  content;  to  be  noticed 
sometimes  by  a  Lady  Montfort  should,  I  think,  satisfy  any 
man." 

"  Well,  that  is  gallant,  but  it  is  not  business,  my  dear  lord. 
You  can  count  on  my  devotion  even  when  you  are  married ; 
but  I  want  to  see  you  on  a  pinnacle,  so  that  if  anything  hap- 
pens there  shall  be  no  question  who  is  to  be  the  first  man  in 
this  country." 


154  ENDTMION. 


^      CHAPTER  XL. 

The  meeting  of  Parliament  caused  also  the  return  of  Wal- 
dershare  to  England,  and  brought  life  and  enjoyment  to  our 
friends  in  Warwick  Street.  Waldershare  had  not  taken  his 
seat  in  the  autumn  session.  After  the  general  election  he 
had  gone  abroad  with  Lord  Beaumaris,  the  young  nobleman 
who  had  taken  them  to  the  Derby,  and  they  had  seen  and  done 
many  strange  things.  During  all  their  peregrinations,  however, 
Waldershare  maintained  a  constant  correspondence  with  Irno- 
gene,  occasionally  sending  her  a  choice  volume,  which  she  was 
not  only  to  read,  but  to  prove  her  perusal  of  it  by  forwarding 
to  him  a  criticism  of  its  contents. 

Endymion  was  too  much  pleased  to  meet  Waldershare  again, 
and  told  him  of  the  kind  of  intimacy  he  had  formed  with  Col- 
onel Albert  and  all  about  the  baron.  Waldershare  was  much 
interested  in  these  details,  and  it  was  arranged  that  an  oppor- 
tunity should  be  taken  to  make  the  colonel  and  Waldershare 
acquainted. 

This,  however,  was  not  an  easy  result  to  bring  about,  for 
Waldershare  insisted  on  its  not  occurring  formally,  and  as  the 
colonel  maintained  the  utmost  reserve  with  the  household,  and 
Endymion  had  no  room  of  reception,  weeks  passed  over  without 
Waldershare  knowing  more  of  Colonel  Albert  personally  than 
sometimes  occasionally  seeing  him  mount  his  horse. 

In  the  mean  time  life  in  Warwick  Street,  so  far  as  the  Rod- 
ney family  were  concerned,  appeared  to  have  reassumed  its 
pleasant,  and  what  perhaps  we  are  authorized  in  styling  its 
normal  condition.  They  went  to  the  play  two  or  three  times 
a  week,  and  there  Waldershare  or  Lord  Beaumaris,  frequently 
both,  always  joined  them ;  and  then  they  came  home  to  sup- 
per, and  then  they  smoked ;  and  sometimes  there  was  a  little 
singing,  and  sometimes  a  little  whist.  Occasionally  there  was 
only  conversation,  that  is  to  say,  Waldershare  held  forth,  dilat- 
ing on  some  wondrous  theme,  full  of  historical  anecdote  and 
dazzling  paradox,  and  happy  phrase.  All  listened  with  inter- 
est, even  those  who  did  not  understand  him.  Much  of  his 
talk  was  addressed  really  to  Beaumaris,  whose  mind  he  was 
forming,  as  well  as  that  of  Imogene.  Beaumaris  was  an  he- 
reditary Whig,  but  had  not  personally  committed  himself,  and 
the  ambition  of  Waldershare  was  to  transform  him  not  only 
into  a  Tory,  but  one  of  the  old  rock,  a  real  Jacobite.     "Is  not 


ENDTMION.  155 

the  Tory  party,"  Waldershare  would  exclaim,  a  succession  of 
heroic  spirits,  *  beautiful  and  swift,'  ever  in  the  van,  and  fore- 
most of  their  age? — Hobbes  and  Bolingbroke,  Hume  and 
Adam  Smith,  Wyndham  and  Cobham,  Pitt  and  Grenville^ 
Canning  and  Husklsson?  Are  not  the  principles  of  Toryism 
those  popular  rights  which  men  like  Shippen  and  Hynde  Cot- 
ton flung  in  the  face  of  an  alien  monarch  and  his  mushroom 
aristocracy? — Place  bills,  triennial  bills,  opposition  to  standing 
armies,  to  peerage  bills?  Are  not  the  traditions  of  the  Tory 
party  the  noblest  pedigree  in  the  world  ?  Are  not  its  illustra- 
tions that  glorious  martyrology,  that  opens  with  the  name  of 
Falkland  and  closes  with  the  name  of  Canning?" 

"I  believe  it  is  all  true,"  whispered  Lord  Beaumaris  to 
Sylvia,  who  had  really  never  heard  of  any  of  these  gentlemen 
before,  but  looked  most  sweet  and  sympathetic. 

"He  is  a  wonderful  man — Mr.  Waldershare,"  said  Mr.  Vigo 
to  Rodney,  "  but  I  fear  not  practical." 

One  day,  not  very  long  after  his  return  from  his  travels, 
Waldershare  went  to  breakfast  with  his  uncle,  Mr.  Sidney 
Wilton,  now  a  cabinet  minister,  still  unmarried,  and  living  in 
Grosvenor  Square.  Not-withstanding  the  difference  of  their 
politics,  an  affectionate  intimacy  subsisted  between  them;  in- 
deed, Waldershare  was  a  favorite  of  his  uncle,  who  enjoyed  the 
freshness  of  his  mind,  and  quite  appreciated  his  brilliancy  of 
thought  and  speech,  his  quaint  reading  and  effervescent  imag- 
ination. 

"  And  so  you  think  we  are  in  for  life,  George,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton,  taking  a  piece  of  toast.     "  I  do  not." 

"Well,  I  go  upon  this,"  said  Waldershare.  "It  is  quite 
clear  that  Peel  has  nothing  to  offer  the  country,  and  the  country 
will  not  rally  round  a  negation.  When  he  failed  in  '34  they 
said  there  had  not  been  sufficient  time  for  the  reaction  to  work. 
Well  now,  since  then,  it  has  had  nearly  three  years,  during 
which  you  fellows  have  done  everything  to  outrage  every 
prejudice  of  the  constituency,  and  yet  they  have  given  you  a 
majority." 

"  Yes,  that  is  all  very  well,"  replied  Mr.  Wilton,  "  but  we 
are  the  Liberal  shop,  and  we  have  no  Liberal  goods  on  hand; 
we  are  the  party  of  movement,  and  must  perforce  stand  still. 
The  fact  is,  all  the  great  questions  are  settled.  No  one  will 
burn  his  fingers  with  the  Irish  Church  again,  in  this  genera- 
tion certainly  not,  probably  in  no  other;  you  could  not  get  ten 
men  together,  in  any  part  of  the  country  to  consider  the  corn 


156  ENDTMION. 

laws;  I  must  confess  I  regret  it.  I  still  retain  my  opinion  that 
a  moderate  fixed  duty  would  be  a  wise  arrangement,  but  I 
quite  despair  in  my  time  of  any  such  advance  of  opinion;  as  for 
the  ballot,  it  is  hardly  tolerated  in  debating-societies.  The 
present  government,  my  dear  George,  will  expire  from  inan- 
ition. I  always  told  the  cabinet  they  were  going  on  too  fast. 
They  ahould  have  kept  back  municipal  reform.  It  would  have 
carried  us  on  for  five  years.  It  was  our  only  piece  de  resist- 
ance^"* 

"  I  look  upon  the  House  of  Commons  as  a  mere  vestry,"  said 
Waldershare.  "  I  believe  it  to  be  completely  used  up.  Reform 
has  dished  it.  There  are  no  men,  and  naturally,  because  the 
constituencies  elect  themselves,  and  the  constituencies  are  the 
most  mediocre  of  the  nation.  The  House  of  Commons  now 
is  like  a  spendthrift  living  on  his  capital.  The  business  is  done 
and  the  speeches  are  made  by  men  formed  in  the  old  school. 
The  influence  of  the  House  of  Commons  is  mainly  kept  up  by 
old  social  traditions.  I  believe  if  the  eldest  sons  of  peers  now 
members  would  all  accept  the  Chiltern  hundreds,  and  the  House 
thus  cease  to  be  fashionable,  before  a  year  was  past  it  would  be 
as  odious  and  as  contemptible  as  the  Rump  Parliament." 

"  Well,  you  are  now  the  eldest  son  of  a  peer,"  said  Sidney 
Wilton,  smiling.  "  Why  do  you  not  set  an  example  instead  of 
spending  your  father's  substance  and  your  own  in  fighting  a 
corrupt  borough  ?  " 

"  I  am  vox  clamantis^''  said  Waldershare.  "  I  do  not  despair 
of  its  being  done.  But  what  I  want  is  some  big  guns  to  do  it. 
Let  the  eldest  son  of  a  Tory  duke  and  the  eldest  son  of  a  Whig 
duke  do  the  thing  on  the  same  day,  and  give  the  reason 
why.  If  Saxmundhan,  for  example,  and  Harlaxton  would  do 
it,  the  game  would  be  up." 

"  On  the  contrary,  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  Saxmundham,  I  can 
tell  you,  will  be  the  new  cabinet  minister." 

"  Degenerate  land!"  exclaimed  Waldershare.  "  Ah!  in  the 
eighteenth  century  there  was  always  a  cause  to  sustain  the 
political  genius  of  the  country — the  cause  of  the  rightful 
dynasty." 

"  Well,  thank  God,  we  have  got  rid  of  all  those  troubles," 
said  Mr.  Wilton. 

"  Rid  of  them!  I  do  not  know  that.  I  saw  a  great  deal  of 
the  Duke  of  Modena  this  year,  and  tried  as  well  as  I  could  to 
open  his  mind  to  the  situation." 

"  You  traitor!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wilton.     "  If  I  were  Secre- 


ENDTMION,  157 

tary  of  State,  I  would  order  the  butler  to  arrest  you  immedi- 
ately, and  send  you  to  the  Tower  in  a  hack  cab;  but  as  I  am 
only  a  President  of  a  Board  and  your  uncle,  you  will  escape." 

"  Well,  I  should  think  all  sensible  men,"  said  Waldershare, 
"of  all  2^arties  will  agree,  that  before  we  try  a  republic,  it 
would  be  better  to  give  a  chance  to  the  rightful  heir." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  a  republican,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  and  I 
think  Queen  Victoria,  particularly  if  she  make  a  wise  and 
happy  marriage,  need  not  much  fear  the  Duke  of  Modena." 

"  He  is  our  sovereign  lord,  all  the  same,"  said  Waldershare. 
"I  wish  he  were  more  aware  of  it  himself.  Instead  of  looking 
to  a  restoration  to  his  throne,  I  found  him  always  harping  on 
the  fear  of  French  invasion.  I  could  not  make  him  under- 
stand that  France  was  his  natural  ally,  and  that  without  her 
help  Charlie  was  not  likely  to  have  his  own  again." 

"  Well  as  you  admire  pretenders,  George,  I  wish  you  were 
in  my  shoes  this  morning,  for  I  have  got  one  of  the  most  disa- 
greeable interviews  on  hand  which  ever  fell  to  my  lot." 

"  How  so,  my  dear  uncle  ? "  said  Waldershare,  in  a  tone  of 
sympathy,  for  he  saw  that  the  countenance  of  Mr.  Wilton  wa& 
disturbed. 

"My  unhappy  ward,"  said  Mr.  Wilton;  "you  know,  of 
course,  something  about  him." 

"Well,  I  was  at  school  and  college,"  said  Waldershare, 
"  when  it  all  happened.  But  1  have  just  heard  that  you  had 
relations  with  him." 

"  The  most  intimate;  and  there  is  the  bitterness.  There  ex- 
isted between  his  mother,  Queen  Agrippina,  and  myself  ties  of 
entire  friendship.  In  her  last  years  and  in  her  greatest  adver- 
sity she  appealed  to  me  to  be  the  guardian  of  her  son.  He 
inherited  all  her  beauty  and  apparently  all  her  sweetness  of 
disposition.  I  took  the  greatest  pains  with  him.  He  was  at 
Eton,  and  did  well  there.  He  was  very  popular;  I  never  was 
so  deceived  in  a  boy  in  my  life.  I  thought  him  the  most  do- 
cile of  human  beings,  and  that  I  had  gained  over  him  an  en- 
tire influence.  I  am  sure  it  would  have  been  exercised  for  his 
benefit.  In  short,  I  may  say  it  now,  I  looked  upon  him  as  a 
son,  and  he  certainly  would  have  been  my  heir;  and  yet  all 
this  time,  from  his  seventeenth  year  he  was  immersed  in  polit- 
ical intrigue,  and  carrying  on  plots  against  the  sovereign  of 
his  country,  even  under  my  own  roof." 

"  How  very  interesting!"  said  Waldershare. 

"It  may  be  interesting  to  you;  I  know  what  it  cost  me.. 


158  ENDTMION, 

The  greatest  anxiety  and  sorrow,  and  even  nearly  comprom- 
ised my  honor.  Had  I  not  a  large-hearted  chief  and  a  true 
inan  of  the  world  to  deal  with,  I  must  have  retired  from  the 
government." 

"  How  could  he  manage  it  ?"  said  Waldershare. 

"  You  have  no  conception  of  the  devices  and  resources  of  the 
secret  societies  of  Europe,"  said  Mr.  Wilton.  "  His  drawing- 
master,  his  fencing-master,  his  dancing-master,  all  his  professors 
of  languages,  who  delighted  me  by  their  testimony  to  his  ac- 
complishments and  their  praises  of  his  quickness  and  assiduity, 
were  active  confederates  in  bringing  about  events  which  might 
have  occasioned  a  European  war.  He  left  me  avowedly  to  pay 
a  visit  in  the  country,  and  I  even  received  letters  from  him 
with  the  postmark  of  the  neighboring  town;  letters  all  pre- 
pared beforehand.  My  first  authentic  information  as  to  his 
movements  was  to  learn,  that  he  had  headed  an  invading  force, 
landed  on  the  shores  which  he  claimed  as  his  own,  was  de- 
feated and  a  prisoner." 

"  I  remember  it,"  said  Waldershare.  "  1  had  just  then  gone 
up  to  St.  John's,  and  I  remember  reading  it  with  the  greatest 
excitement." 

"  All  this  was  bad  enough,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  but  this  is 
not  my  sorrow.  I  saved  him  from  death,  or  at  least  a  dreadful 
imprisonment.  He  was  permitted  to  sail  to  America  on  his 
parole  that  he  would  never  return  to  Europe,  and  I  was  re- 
quired, and  on  his  solemn  appeal  I  consented,  to  give  my  per- 
sonal engagement  that  the  compact  should  be  sacred.  Before 
two  years  had  elapsed,  supported  all  this  time,  too,  by  my 
bounty,  there  was  an  attempt,  almost  successful,  to  assassinate 
the  king,  and  my  ward  was  discovered  and  seized  in  the  capital. 
This  time  he  was  immured,  and  for  life,  in  the  strongest  fortress 
of  the  country ;  but  secret  societies  laugh  at  governments,  and 
though  he  endured  a  considerable  imprisonment,  the  world  has 
recently  been  astounded  by  hearing  that  he  had  escaped.  Yes; 
he  is  in  London  and  has  been  here,  though  in  studied  obscurity, 
for  some  little  time.  He  has  never  appealed  to  me  until  within 
these  few  days,  and  now  only  on  the  ground  that  there  are 
some  family  affairs  which  cannot  be  arranged  without  my  ap- 
proval. I  had  great  doubts  whether  I  should  receive  him.  I 
feel  I  ought  not  to  have  done  so.  But  I  hesitated,  and  I  know 
not  what  may  be  the  truth  about  women,  but  of  this  I  am 
quite  sure,  the  man  who  hesitates  is  lost." 


ENDTMION.  159 

"  How  I  should  like  to  be  present  at  the  interview,  my  dear 
uncle,"  said  Waldershare. 

"  And  I  should  not  be  sorry  to  have  a  witness,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton,  "  but  it  is  impossible.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  how  un- 
hinged I  feel;  no  person,  and  no  memories,  ought  to  exercise 
such  an  influence  over  me.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  encour- 
aged your  pleasant  gossip  at  breakfast  by  way  of  distraction 
at  this  moment,  and  now — " 

At  this  moment  the  groom  of  the  chambers  entered  and  an- 
nounced "  His  royal  highness.  Prince  Florestan." 

Mr.  Wilton,  who  was  too  agitated  to  speak,  waved  his  hand 
to  Waldershare  to  retire,  and  his  nephew  vanished.  As  Wal- 
dershare was  descending  the  staircase,  he  drew  back  on  a  land- 
ing-place to  permit  the  prince  to  advance  undisturbed.  The 
prince  apparently  did  not  observe  him,  but  when  Waldershare 
caught  the  countenance  of  the  visitor,  he  started. 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

"  I  KNOW,  sir,  you  are  prejudiced  against  me,"  said  Prince 
Florestan,  bowing  before  Mr.  Wilton  with  a  sort  of  haughty 
humility, "  and  therefore  I  the  more  appreciate  your  condescen- 
sion in  receiving  me." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  refer  to  the  past,"  said  Mr.  Wilton  some- 
what sternly.  "You  mentioned  in  your  letter  that  my  co- 
operation was  necessary  with  reference  to  your  private  affairs, 
of  which  I  once  was  a  trustee,  and  under  those  circumstances 
I  felt  it  my  duty  to  accede  to  your  request.  I  wish  our  com- 
munication to  be  limited  to  that  business." 

"  It  shall  be  so  strictly,"  said  the  prince ;  "  you  may  remem- 
ber, sir,  that  at  the  unhappy  period  when  we  were  deprived  of 
our  throne,  the  name  of  Queen  Agrippina  was  inscribed  on  the 
great  book  of  the  state  for  a  considerable  sum,  for  which  the 
credit  of  the  state  was  pledged  to  her.  It  was  strictly  her  pri- 
vate property,  and  had  mainly  accrued  through  the  sale  of  the 
estates  of  her  ancestors.  This  sum  was  confiscated,  and  several 
other  amounts,  which  belonged  to  members  of  our  house,  and 
to  our  friends.  It  was  an  act  of  pure  rapine,  so  gross,  that  as 
time  revolved,  and  the  sense  of  justice  gradually  returned  to  the 
hearts  of  men,  restitution  was  made  in  every  instance  except  my 
own,  though  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  individual  case  was 
the  strongest.  My  bankers,  the  house  of  Neuchatel,  who  have 
much  interested  themselves  in  this  matter,  and  have  consider- 


i6o  END  r MI  ON. 

able  influence  with  the  government  that  succeeded  us,  have 
brought  things  to  this  pass,  that  we  have  reason  to  believe  our 
claim  would  be  conceded,  if  some  of  the  foreign  governments, 
and  especially  the  government  of  this  country,  would  signify 
that  the  settlement  would  not  be  disagreeable  to  them."  And 
the  prince  ceased,  and  raising  his  eyes,  which  were  downcast 
as  he  spoke,  looked  Mr.  Wilton  straight  in  the  face. 

"  Before  such  a  proposal  could  even  be  considered  by  her 
Majesty's  Government,"  said  Mr.  Wilton  with  a  reddening 
cheek,  "  the  intimation  must  be  made  to  them  by  authority. 
If  the  minister  of  your  country  has  such  an  intimation  to  make 
to  ours,  he  should  address  himself  to  the  proper  quarter,  to 
Lord  Roehampton." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Prince  Florestan;  "that  governments,, 
like  individuals,  sometimes  shrink  from  formality.  The  govern- 
ment of  my  country  will  act  on  the  intimation,  but  they  do  not 
care  to  make  it  an  affair  of  despatches." 

"  There  is  only  one  way  of  transacting  business,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton,  frigidly,  and,  as  if,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the 
interview  was  ended. 

"  I  have  been  advised  on  high  authority,"  said  Prince  Flor- 
estan, speaking  very  slowly, "  that  if  any  member  of  the  present 
cabinet  will  mention  in  conversation  to  the  representative  of 
my  country  here,  that  the  act  of  justice  would  not  be  disagree- 
able to  the  British  Government,  the  affair  is  finished." 

"  I  doubt  whether  any  one  of  my  colleagues  would  be  pre- 
pared to  undertake  a  personal  interference  of  that  kind  with  a 
foreign  government,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  stiffly.  "  For  my  own 
part,  I  have  had  quite  enough  of  such  interpositions  never  to 
venture  on  them  again." 

"  The  expression  of  feeling  desired  would  involve  no  sort  of 
engagement,"  said  the  imperturbable  prince. 

"  That  depends  on  the  conscience  of  the  individual  who  in- 
terferes. No  man  of  honor  would  be  justified  in  so  interpos- 
ing if  he  believed  he  was  thus  furnishing  arms  against  the 
very  government  of  which  he  solicited  the  favor," 

"  But  why  should  he  believe  this  ?"  asked  the  prince  with 
great  calmness. 

"  I  think,  upon  reflection,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  taking  up  at 
the  same  time  an  opened  letter  which  was  before  him,  as  if  he 
wished  to  resume  the  private  business  on  which  he  had  been 
previously  engaged,  "  that  your  royal  highness  might  find  very 
adequate  reasons  for  the  belief." 


ENDTMION,  i6i 

"  I  would  put  this  before  you  with  great  deference,  sir,"  said 
the  prince.  "  Take  my  own  case;  is  it  not  more  likely  that  I 
should  lead  that  life  of  refined  retirement  which  I  really  desire, 
were  I  in  possession  of  the  means  to  maintain  such. a  position 
with  becoming  dignity,  than  if  I  were  distressed  and  harassed 
and  disgusted  every  day  with  sights  and  incidents  which  alike 
outrage  my  taste  and  self-respect?  It  is  not  prosperity,  accord- 
ing to  common  belief,  that  makes  conspirators." 

"  You  were  in  a  position,  and  a  refined  position,"  rejoined 
Mr.  Wilton  sharply;  "you  had  means  adequate  to  all  that  a 
gentleman  could  desire,  and  might  have  been  a  person  of  great 
consideration,  and  you  wantonly  destroyed  all  this." 

"  It  might  be  remembered  that  I  was  young." 

"  Yes,  you  were  young,  very  young,  and  your  folly  was 
condoned.  You  might  have  begun  life  again,  for  to  the  world 
at  least  you  were  a  man  of  honor.  You  had  not  deceived  the 
world,  whatever  you  might  have  done  to  others." 

"If  I  presume  to  make  another  remark,"  said  the  prince 
calmly  but  pale,  "  it  is  only,  believe  me,  sir,  from  the  profound 
respect  I  feel  for  you.  Do  not  misunderstand  these  feelings, 
sir.  They  are  not  unbecoming  the  past.  Now  that  my  mother 
has  departed  there  is  no  one  to  whom  I  am  attached  except 
yourself.  I  have  no  feeling  whatever  towards  any  other 
human  being.  All  my  thought  and  all  my  sentiment  are  en- 
grossed by  my  country.  But  pardon  me,  dear  sir,  for  so  let 
me  call  you,  if  I  venture  to  say  that,  in  your  decision  on  my 
conduct,  you  have  never  taken  into  consideration  the  position 
which  I  inherited." 

"  I  do  not  follow  you,  sir." 

"  You  never  will  remember  that  I  am  the  child  of  destiny," 
said  Prince  Florestan.  "  That  destiny  will  again  place  me  on 
the  throne  of  my  fathers.  That  is  as  certain  as  I  am  now 
speaking  to  you.  But  destiny  for  its  fulfilment  ordains  action. 
Its  decrees  are  inexorable,  but  they  are  obscure,  and  the  being 
whose  career  it  directs  is  as  a  man  travelling  in  a  dark  night; 
he  reaches  his  goal  even  without  the  aid  of  stars  or  moon." 

"I  really  do  not  understand  what  destiny  means,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton.  "  I  understand  what  conduct  means,  and  I  recognize 
that  it  should  be  regulated  by  truth  and  honor.  I  think  a  man 
had  better  have  nothing  to  do  with  destiny,  particularly  if  it  is 
to  make  him  forfeit  his  parole." 

"  Ah,  sir,  I  well  know  that  on  that  head  you  entertain  a 
great   prejudice   in    my    respect.     Believe    me,  it  is  not  just. 


i62  END  r MI  ON, 

Even  lawyers  acknowledge  that  a  contract  which  is  impossible 
cannot  be  violated.  My  return  from  America  was  inevitable. 
The  aspirations  of  a  great  people  and  of  many  communities  re- 
quired my  presence  in  Europe.  My  return  was  the  natural  de- 
velopment of  the  irresistible  principles  of  historical  necessity." 

"Well,  that  principle  is  not  recognized  by  her  Majesty's 
ministers,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  and  both  himself  and  the  prince 
seemed  to  rise  at  the  same  time. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  this  interview,"  said  his  royal  highness. 
"  You  will  not  help  me,  but  what  I  require  will  happen  by 
some  other  means.     It  is  necessary,  and  therefore  it  will  occur." 

The  prince  remounted  his  horse  and  rode  off  quickly  till  he 
reached  the  Strand,  where  obstacles  to  rapid  progress  com- 
menced, and  though  impatient,  it  was  some  time  before  he 
reached  Bishopsgate  Street.  He  entered  the  spacious  court- 
yard of  a  noble  mansion,  and  giving  his  horse  to  the  groom, 
inquired  for  Mr.  Neuchatel,  to  whom  he  was  at  once  ushered 
— seated  in  a  fine  apartment  at  a  table  covered  with  many 
papers. 

"  Well,  my  prince,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel  with  a  smiling  eye, 
"  what  brings  such  a  great  man  into  the  City  to-day  ?  Have 
you  seen  your  great  friend?  "  And  then  Prince  Florestan  gave 
Mr.  Neuchatel  a  succinct  but  sufficient  summary  of  his  recent 
interview. 

'•Ah!"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  so  it  is,  so  it  is;  I  dare  say  if 
you  were  received  at  St.  James's,  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  would 
not  be  so  very  particular;  but  we  must  take  things  as  we  find 
them.  If  our  fine  friends  will  not  help  us,  you  must  try  us 
poor  business  men  in  the  City.  We  can  manage  things  here 
sometimes  which  puzzle  them  at  the  West  End.  I  saw  you 
were  disturbed  when  you  came  in.  Put  on  a  good  counten- 
ance. Nobody  should  ever  look  anxious  except  those  who 
have  no  anxiety.  I  dare  say  you  would  like  to  know  how 
your  account  is.  I  will  send  for  it.  It  is  not  so  bad  as  you 
think.  I  put  a  thousand  pounds  to  it  in  the  hopes  that  your 
fine  friend  would  help  us,  but  I  shall  not  take  it  oflf  again.  My 
Louis  is  going  to-night  to  Paris,  and  he  shall  call  upon  the 
ministers  and  see  what  can  be  done.  In  the  mean  time,  good 
appetite,  sir.  I  am  going  to  luncheon,  and  there  is  a  place  for 
you.  And  I  will  show  you  my  Gainsborough  that  I  have  just 
bought  from  a  family  for  whom  it  was  painted.  The  face  is 
divine,  very  like  our  Miss  Fcrrars.  I  am  going  to  send  the 
picture  down  to  Hainault.     I  won't  tell  you  what  I  gave  for  it, 


ENDTMION.  163 

because  perhaps  you  would  "tell  my  wife,  and  she  would  be 
very  angry.  She  would  want  the  money  for  an  infant-school. 
But  I  think  she  has  schools  enough.     Now  to  lunch." 

On  the  afternoon  of  this"  day  there  was  half-holiday  at  the 
office,  and  Endymion  had  engaged  to  accompany  Waldershare 
on  some  expedition.  They  had  been  talking  together  in  his 
room,  where  Waldershare  was  finishing  his  careless  toilet, 
which,  however,  was  never  finished,  and  they  had  just  opened 
the  house-door  and  were  sallying  forth,  when  Colonel  Albert 
rode  up.  He  gave  a  kind  nod  to  Endymion,  but  did  not 
speak,  and  the  companions  went  on.  "  By-the-bye,  Ferrars," 
said  Waldershare,  pressing  his  arm  and  bubbling  with  excite- 
ment, "  I  have  found  out  who  your  Colonel  is.  It  is  a  won- 
drous tale,  and  I  will  tell  it  all  to  you  as  we  go  on." 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

Endymion  had  now  passed  three  years  of  his  life  in  Lon- 
don, and,  considering  the  hard  circumstances  under  which  he 
had  commenced  this  career,  he  might,  on  the  whole,  look  back 
to  those  years  without  dissatisfaction.  Three  years  ago  he  was 
poor  and  friendless,  utterly  ignorant  of  the  world,  and  with 
nothing  to  guide  him  but  his  own  good-sense.  His  slender 
salary  had  not  yet  been  increased,  but  with  the  generosity  and 
aid  of  his  sister,  and  the  liberality  of  Mr.  Vigo,  he  was  easy  in 
his  circumstances.  Through  the  Rodneys  he  had  become 
acquainted  with  a  certain  sort  of  miscellaneous  life,  a  knowl- 
edge of  which  is  highly  valuable  to  a  youth,  but  which  is 
seldom  attained  without  risk.  Endymion,  on  the  contrary, 
was  always  guarded  from  danger.  Through  his  most  unex- 
pected connection  with  the  Neuchatel  family,  he  had  seen 
something  of  life  in  circles  of  refinement  and  high  consideration, 
and  had  even  caught  glimpses  of  that  great  world  of  which  he 
read  so  much,  and  heard  people  talk  more — the  world  of  the 
Lord  Roehamptons  and  the  Lady  Montforts,  and  all  those 
dazzling  people  whose  sayings  and  doings  form  the  taste,  and 
supply  the  conversation,  and  leaven  the  existence  of  admiring 
or  wondering  millions. 

None  of  these  incidents,  however,  had  induced  any  change 
in  the  scheme  of  his  existence.  Endymion  was  still  content 
with  his  cleanly  and  airy  garret;  still  dined  at  Joe's;  was  still 
sedulous  at  his  office,  and  always  popular  with  his  fellow 
clerks.     Seymour   Kicks,  indeed,  who   studied    the  Morning 


i64  END  r MI  ON, 

Post  with  intentness,  had  discovered  the  name  of  Endymion 
in  the  elaborate  lists  of  attendants  on  Mrs.  Neuchatel's  recep- 
tions, and  had  duly  notified  the  important  event  to  his  col- 
leagues; but  Endymion  vs^as  not  severely  bantered  on  the 
occasion,  for,  since  the  w^ithdrawal  of  St.  Barbe  from  the  bu- 
reau, the  stock  of  envy  at  Somerset  House  vv^as  sensibly  dimin- 
ished. 

His  lodging  at  the  Rodneys,  how^ever,  had  brought  Endy- 
mion something  more  valuable  than  an  innocuous  familiarity 
with  their  various  and  suggestive  life.  In  the  friendship  of 
Waldershare  he  found  a  rich  compensation  for  being  with- 
drawn from  his  school  and  deprived  of  his  university.  The 
care  of  his  father  had  made  Endymion  a  good  classical  scholar, 
and  he  had  realized  a  degree  of  culture  which  it  delighted  the 
brilliant  and  eccentric  Waldershare  to  enrich  and  to  complete. 
Waldershare  guided  his  opinions  and  directed  his  studies  and 
ormed  his  taste.  Alone  at  night  in  his  garret,  there  was  no 
solitude,  for  he  had  always  some  book  or  some  periodical, 
English  or  foreign,  with  which  Waldershare  had  supplied  him, 
and  which  he  assured  Endymion  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
that  he  should  read  and  master. 

Nor  was  his  acquaintance  with  Baron  Sergius  less  valuable, 
or  less  fruitful  of  results.  He,  too,  became  interested  in  Endy- 
mion, and  poured  forth  to  him,  apparently  without  reserve,  all 
the  treasures  of  his  vast  experience  of  men  and  things,  especially 
with  reference  to  the  conduct  of  external  affairs.  He  initiated 
him  in  the  cardinal  principles  of  the  policies  of  different  nations; 
he  revealed  to  him  the  real  character  of  the  chief  actors  in  the 
scene.  "  The  first  requisite,"  Baron  Sergius  would  say,  "  in  the 
successful  conduct  of  public  affairs  is  a  personal  acquaintance 
with  the  statesmen  engaged.  It  is  possible  that  events  may 
not  depend  now,  so  much  as  they  did  a  century  ago,  on  indi- 
vidual feeling,  but,  even  if  prompted  by  general  principles, 
their  application  and  management  are  always  colored  by  the 
idiosyncrasy  of  the  chief  actors.  The  great  advantage  which 
your  Lord  Roehampton,  for  example,  has  over  all  his  colleagues 
in  la  haute  politique  is  that  he  was  one  of  your  plenipoten- 
tiaries at  the  Congress  of  Vienna.  There  he  learned  to  gauge 
the  men  who  govern  the  world.  Do  you  think  a  man  like 
that,  called  upon  to  deal  with  a  Metternich  or  a  Pozzo,  has  no 
advantage  over  an  individual  who  never  leaves  his  chair  in 
Downing  Street  except  to  kill  grouse  ?  Pah !  Metternich  and 
Pozzo  know  very  well  that  Lord   Roehampton  knows  them. 


EN D  r MI  ON,  165 

and  they  set  about  affairs  with  him  in  a  totally  different  spirit 
from  that  with  which  they  circumvent  some  statesman  who  has 
issued  from  the  barricades  of  Paris." 

Nor  must  it  be  forgotten  that  his  debating-society  and  the 
acquaintance  which  he  had  formed  there  were  highly  bene- 
ficial to  Endymion.  Under  the  roof  of  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine 
he  enjoyed  the  opportunity  of  forming  an  acquaintance  with  a 
large  body  of  young  men  of  breeding,  of  high  education,  and 
full  of  ambition,  that  was  a  substitute  for  the  society  becoming 
his  youth  and  station  which  he  had  lost  by  not  going  to  the 
university. 

With  all  these  individuals,  and  with  all  their  circles,  Endym- 
ion was  a  favorite.  No  doubt  his  good  looks,  his  mien — which 
was  both  cheerful  and  pensive — his  graceful  and  quiet  manners, 
all  told  in  his  favor  and  gave  him  a  good  start,  but  further  ac- 
quaintance always  sustained  the  first  impression.  He  was  in- 
telligent and  well-informed,  without  any  alarming  originality 
or  too  positive  convictions.  He  listened  not  only  with  patience, 
but  with  interest  to  all,  and  ever  avoided  controversy.  Here 
are  some  of  the  elements  of  a  man's  popularity. 

What  was  his  intellectual  reach  and  what  his  real  character 
it  was  difficult  at  this  time  to  decide.  He  was  still  very  young, 
only  on  the  verge  of  his  twentieth  year;  and  his  character  had, 
no  doubt,  been  influenced,  it  might  be  suppressed,  by  the 
crushing  misfortunes  of  his  family.  The  influence  of  his  sister 
was  supreme  over  him.  She  had  existed  only  on  the  solitary 
idea  of  regaining  their  position,  and  she  had  never  omitted  an 
occasion  to  impress  upon  him  that  he  had  a  great  mission, 
and  that,  aided  by  her  devotion,  he  would  fulfil  it.  What  his 
own  conviction  on  this  subject  was  nxiy  be  obscure.  Perhaps 
he  was  organically  of  that  cheerful  and  easy  nature  which  Is 
content  to  enjoy  the  present  and  not  brood  over  the  past.  The 
future  may  throw  light  upon  all  these  points ;  at  present  it  may 
be  admitted  that  the  three  years  of  seemingly  bitter  and  mor- 
tifying adversity  have  not  been  altogether  wanting  in  beneficial 
elements  in  the  formation  of  his  character  and  the  fashioning 
of  his  future  life. 


i66  END  r MI  ON, 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Lady  Montfort  heard  with  great  satisfaction  from  Mr. 
Neuchatel  that  Lord  Roehampton  was  going  to  pay  a  visit  to 
Hainault  at  Easter  and  that  he  had  asked  himself.  She  play- 
fully congratulated  Mrs.  Neuchatel  on  the  subject,  and  spoke 
as  if  the  affair  was  almost  concluded.  That  lady,  however,  re- 
ceived the  intimation  with  a  serious,  not  to  say  distressed, 
countenance.  She  said  she  should  be  grieved  to  lose  Adriana 
under  any  circumstances ;  but,  if  her  marriage  in  time  was  a 
necessity,  she  trusted  she  might  be  united  to  some  one  who 
would  not  object  to  becoming  a  permanent  inmate  of  the  house. 
What  she  herself  desired  for  her  daughter  was  a  union  with 
some  clergyman,  and,  if  possible,  the  rector  of  their  own  parish. 
But  it  was  too  charming  a  dream  to  realize.  The  rectory  at 
Hainault  was  almost  in  the  Park,  and  was  the  prettiest  house 
in  the  world,  with  the  most  lovely  garden.  She  herself  much 
preferred  it  to  the  great  mansion — and  so  on. 

Lady  Montfort  stared  at  her  with  impatient  astonishment, 
and  then  said,  "  Your  daughter,  Mrs.  Neuchatel,  ought  to  make 
an  alliance  which  would  place  her  at  the  head  of  society." 

"  What  a  fearful  destiny,"  said  Mrs.  Neuchatel,  "  for  any  one, 
but  overwhelming  for  one  who  must  feel  the  whole  time  that 
she  occupies  a  position  not  acquired  by  her  personal  qualities." 

"  Adriana  is  pretty,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "  I  think  her 
more  than  pretty;  she  is  highly  accomplished  and  in  every 
way  pleasing.  What  can  you  mean,  then,  my  dear  madam, 
by  supposing  she  would  occuj^y  a  position  not  acquired  by  her 
personal  qualities?  " 

Mrs.  Neuchatel  sighed  and  shook  her  head,  and  then  said, 
"  We  need  not  have  a  controversy  on  this  subject.  I  have  no 
reason  to  believe  there  is  any  foundation  for  my  fears.  We  all 
like  and  admire  Lord  Roehampton.  It  is  impossible  not  to 
admire  and  like  him.  So  great  a  man,  and  yet  so  gentle  and 
so  kind,  so  unaffected — I  would  say,  so  unsophisticated ;  but  he 
has  never  given  the  slightest  intimation  either  to  me  or  her 
father  that  he  seriously  admired  Adriana,  and  I  am  sure  if  he 
had  said  anything  to  her  she  would  have  told  us." 

"  He  is  always  here,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "  and  he  is  a  man 
who  used  to  go  nowhere  except  for  form.  Besides,  I  know 
that  he  admires  her,  that  he  is  in  love  with  her,  and  I  have  not 
a  doubt  that  he  has  invited  himself  to  Hainault  in  order  to 
declare  his  feelings  to  her." 


ENDTMION,  167 

"  How  very  dreadful!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Neuchatel.  "  What 
are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"To  do,"  said  Lady  Montlbrt;  "why,  sympathize  with  his 
happiness  and  complete  it.  You  will  have  a  son-in-law  of 
whom  you  may  well  be  proud,  and  Adriana  a  husband  who, 
thoroughly  knowing  the  world  and  women  and  himself,  will 
be  devoted  to  her;  will  be  a  guide  and  friend,  a  guide  that  will 
never  lecture,  and  a  friend  who  will  always  charm,  for  there  is 
no  companion  in  the  world  like  him,  and  I  think  I  ought  to 
know,"  added  Lady  Montfort,  "for  I  always  tell  him  I  was  the 
last  of  his  conquests,  and  I  shall  ever  be  grateful  to  him  for  his 
having  spared  to  me  so  much  of  his  society." 

"Adriana  on  this  matter  will  decide  for  herself,"  said  Mrs, 
Neuchatel,  in  a  serious  tone,  and  with  a  certain  degree  of  dig- 
nity. "  Neither  Mr.  Neuchatel  nor  myself  have  ever  attempted 
to  control  her  feelings  in  this  respect." 

"  Well,  I  am  now  about  to  see  Adriana,"  said  Lady  Mont- 
fort ;  "  I  know  she  is  at  home.  If  I  had  not  been  obliged  to 
go  to  Princedown,  I  would  have  asked  you  to  let  me  pass 
Easter  at  Hainault  myself." 

On  this  very  afternoon,  v/hen  Myra,  who  had  been  walking 
in  Regent's  Park  with  her  brother,  returned  home  she  found 
Adriana  agitated  and  really  in  tears. 

"  What  is  all  this,  dearest  ? "  inquired  her  friend. 

"I  am  too  unhappy,"  sobbed  Adriana;  and  then  she  told 
Myra  that  she  had  had  a  visit  from  Lady  Montfort  and  all  that 
had  occurred  in  it.  Lady  Montfort  had  absolutely  congratu- 
lated her  upon  her  approaching  alliance  with  Lord  Roehamp- 
ton,  and  when  she  altogether  disclaimed  it,  and  expressed  her 
complete  astonishment  at  the  supposition,  Lady  Montfort  had 
told  her  she  was  not  justified  in  giving  Lord  Roehampton  so 
much  encouragement,  and  trifling  with  a  man  of  his  high 
character  and  position. 

"  Fancy  my  giving  encouragement  to  Lord  Roehampton," 
exclaimed  Adriana;  and  she  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck 
of  the  friend  who  was  to  console  her. 

"  I  agree  with  Lady  Montfort,"  said  Myra,  releasing  herself 
with  gentleness  from  her  distressed  friend.  "  It  may  have 
been  unconsciously  on  your  part,  but  I  think  you  have  encour- 
aged Lord  Roehampton.  He  is  constantly  conversing  with 
you,  and  he  is  always  here,  where  he  never  was  before;  and, 
as  Lady  Montfort  says,  why  should  he  have  asked  himself  to 
pass  the  Easter  at  Hainault  if  it  were  not  for  your  society?" 


i68  ENDyMION. 

"  He  invited  himself  to  Hainault  because  he  is  so  fond  of 
pafpa,"  said  Adriana. 

"  So  much  the  better  if  he  is  to  be  your  husband.  That  will 
be  an  additional  element  of  domestic  happiness." 

"  Oh,  Myra,  that  you  should  say  such  things !"  exclaimed 
Adriana. 

"What  things?" 

"  That  I  should  marry  Lord  Roehampton." 

"  I  never  said  anything  of  the  kind.  Whom  you  should 
marry  is  a  question  you  must  decide  for  yourself.  All  that  I 
said  vs^as  that,  if  you  marry  Lord  Roehampton,  it  is  fortunate 
he  is  so  much  liked  by  Mr.  Neuchatel."" 

"  I  shall  not  marry  Lord  Roehampton,"  said  Adriana,  with 
some  determination ;  "  and  if  he  has  condescended  to  think  of 
marrying  me,"  she  continued,  "  as  Lady  Montfort  says,  I  think 
his  motives  are  so  obvious  that  if  I  felt  for  him  any  preference 
it  would  be  immediately  extinguished." 

"Ah!  now  you  are  going  to  ride  your  hobby,  my  dear 
Adriana.  On  that  subject  we  can  never  agree;  were  I  an 
heiress,  I  should  have  as  little  objection  to  be  married  for  my 
fortune  as  my  face.  Husbands,  as  I  have  heard,  do  not  care 
for  the  latter  too  long.  Have  more  confidence  in  yourself, 
Adriana.  If  Lord  Roehampton  wishes  to  marry  you,  it  is 
that  he  is  pleased  with  you  personally,  that  he  appreciates  your 
intelligence,  your  culture,  your  accomplishments,  your  sweet 
disposition,  and  your  gentle  nature.  If  in  addition  to  these  gifts 
you  have  wealth,  and  even  great  wealth.  Lord  Roehampton 
will  not  despise  it,  will  not — I  wish  to  put  it  frankly — be  in- 
fluenced by  the  circumstance,  for  Lord  Roehampton  is  a  wise 
man;  but  he  would  not  marry  you  if  he  did  not  believe  that 
you  would  make  ibr  him  a  delightful  companion  in  life,  that 
you  would  adorn  his  circle  and  illustrate  his  name." 

"  Ah!  I  see  you  are  all  in  the  plot  against  me,"  said  Adri- 
ana.    "  I  have  no  friend." 

"My  dear  Adriana,  I  think  you  are  unreasonable;  I  could 
say  even  unkind." 

"  Oh,  pardon  me,  dear  Myra!"  saidlAdriana,  "but  I  really 
am  so  very  unhappy." 

"  About  what?  You  are  your  own  mistress  in  this  matter. 
If  you  do  not  like  to  marry  Lord  Roehampton,  nobody  will 
attempt  to  control  you.  What  does  it  signify  what  Lady 
Montfort  says?  or  anybody  else,  except  your  own  parents,  who 
desire  nothing  but  your  happiness?     I  should  never  have  men- 


END  r MI  ON.  1G9 

tioned  Lord  Roehampton  to  you  had  you  not  introduced  the 
subject  yourself.  And  all  that  1  meant  to  say  was,  what  I 
repeat,  that  your  creed  that  no  one  can  wish  to  marry  you 
except  for  your  wealth,  is  a  morbid  conviction,  and  must  lead 
to  unhappiness;  that  I  do  not  believe  that  Lord  Roehampton 
is  influenced  in  his  overture,  if  he  makes  one,  by  any  unworthy 
motive;  and  that  any  woman  whose  heart  is  disengaged  should 
not  lightly  repudiate  such  an  advance  from  such  a  man,  by 
which,  at  all  events,  she  should  feel  honored." 

"  But  my  heart  is  engaged,"  said  Adriana,  in  an  almost  sol- 
emn tone. 

"  Oh !  that  is  quite  a  different  thing !"  said  Myra,  turning 
pale. 

"  Yes!"  said  Adriana;  "  I  am  devoted  to  one  whose  name  I 
cannot  now  mention,  perhaps  will  never  mention,  but  1  am  de- 
voted to  him.  Yes!"  she  added,  with  fire,  "I  am  not  alto- 
gether so  weak  a  thing  as  the  Lady  Montfort  and  some  other 
persons  seem  to  think  me — I  can  feel  and  decide  for  myself, 
and  it  shall  never  be  said  of  me  that  I  purchased  love." 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

There  was  to  be  no  great  party  at  Hainault;  Lord  Roe- 
hampton particularly  wished  that  there  should  be  no  fine  folks 
asked,  and  especially  no  ambassadors.  All  that  he  wanted  was 
to  enjoy  the  fresh  air  and  to  ramble  in  the  forest,  of  which  he 
had  heard  so  much,  with  the  young  ladies. 

"  And,  by-the-by.  Miss  Ferrars,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  "  we 
must  let  what  we  were  talking  about  the  other  day  drop. 
Adriana  has  been  with  me,  quite  excited  about  something 
Lady  Montfort  said  to  her.  I  soothed  her,  and  assured  her 
she  should  do  exactly  as  she  liked,  and  that  neither  I  nor  her 
mother  had  any  other  wishes  on  such  a  subject  than  her  own. 
The  fact  is,  I  answered  Lady  Montfort  originally  only  half  in 
earnest.  If  the  thing  might  have  happened,  I  should  have 
been  content — but  it  really  never  rested  on  my  mind,  because 
such  matters  must  always  originate  with  my  daughter.  Un- 
less they  come  from  her,  with  me  they  are  mere  fancies.  But 
now  I  want  you  to  help  me  in  another  matter,  if  not  more 
grave,  more  business-like.  My  lord  must  be  amused,  although 
it  is  a  family  party.  He  likes  his  rubber:  that  we  can  manage. 
But  there  must  be  two  or  three  persons  that  he  is  not  accus- 


I70  ENDTMION. 

tomed  to  meet,  and  yet  who  will  interest  him.  Now,  do  you 
know,  Miss  Ferrars,  whom  I  think  of  asking  ? " 

"  Not  I,  my  dear  sir." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  colonel  ?  "  said  Mr.  Neuchatel, 
looking  into  her  face  with  a  rather  laughing  eye. 

"  Well,  he  is  very  agreeable,"  said  Myra,  "  and  many  would 
think  interesting,  and  if  Lord  Roehampton  does  not  know  him, 
I  think  he  would  do  very  well." 

"  Well,  but  Lord  Roehampton  knows  all  about  him,"  said 
Mr.  Neuchatel. 

"  Well,  that  is  an  advantage,"  said  Myra. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel.  "  Life  is  a  very 
curious  thing,  eh.  Miss  Ferrars  ?  One  cannot  ask  one  person 
to  meet  another  even  in  one's  own  home  without  going  through 
a  sum  of  moral  arithmetic." 

"  Is  it  so  ?"  said  Myra. 

"  Well,  Miss  Ferrars,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  "  I  want  your 
advice  and  I  want  your  aid;  but  then  it  is  a  long  story,  at 
which  I  am  rather  a  bad  hand,"  and  Mr.  Neuchatel  hesitated. 
"  You  know,  he  said,  suddenly  resuming,  "  you  once  asked  me 
who  Colonel  Albert  was." 

"  But  I  do  not  ask  you  now,"  said  Myra,  "  because  I  know." 

"  Ha,  ha!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Neuchatel,  m.uch  surprised. 

"  And  what  you  want  to  know  is,"  continued  Myra, "  whether 
Lord  Roehampton  would  have  any  objections  to  meet  Prince 
Florestan  ? " 

"That  is  something;  but  that  is  comparatively  easy.  I 
think  I  can  manage  that.  But  when  they  meet,  that  is  the 
point.  But,  in  the  first  place,  I  should  like  very  much  to  know 
how  you  became  acquainted  with  the  secret." 

"In  a  very  natural  way;  my  brother  was  my  informant," 
she  replied." 

"Ah!  now  you  see,"  continued  Mr.  Neuchatel,  with  a  seri- 
ous air,  "  a  word  from  Lord  Roehampton  in  the  proper 
quarter  might  be  of  vast  importance  to  the  prince.  He  has  a 
large  inheritance,  and  he  has  been  kept  out  of  it  unjustly.  Our 
house  has  done  what  we  could  for  him,  for  his  mother.  Queen 
Agrippina  was  very  kind  to  my  father,  and  the  house  of  Neu- 
chatel never  forgets  its  friends.  But  we  want  something  else — 
we  want  the  British  government  to  intimate  that  they  will  not 
disapprove  of  the  restitution  of  the  private  fortune  of  the  prince. 
I  have  felt  my  way  with  the  premier;  he  is  not  favorable;  he 
is  prejudiced  against  the  prince;  and  so  is  the  cabinet  gene- 


ENDTMION,  171 

rally;  and  yet  all  difficulties  would  vanish  at  a  word  from 
Lord  Roehampton," 

"  Well,  this  is  a  good  opportunity  for  you  to  speak  to  him," 
said  Myra. 

"  Hem  !"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  "  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that. 
I  like  Lord  Roehampton,  and,  between  ourselves,  I  wish  he 
were  first  minister.  He  understands  the  Continent,  and  would 
keep  things  quiet.  But,  do  you  know,  Miss  Fcrrars,  with 
all  his  playful,  good-tempered  manner,  as  if  he  could  not  say 
a  cross  word  or  do  an  unkind  act,  he  is  a  very  severe  man  in 
business.  Speak  to  him  on  business,  and  he  is  completely 
changed.  His  brows  knit,  he  penetrates  you  with  the  terri- 
ble scrutiny  of  that  deep-set  eye;  he  is  more  than  stately, he  is 
austere.  I  have  been  up  to  him  with  deputations — the  gov- 
ernor of  the  bank,  and  all  the  first  men  in  the  City,  half  of 
them  M.  P.s,  and  they  trembled  before  him  like  aspens.  No, 
it  will  not  do  for  me  to  speak  to  him ;  it  will  spoil  his  visit.  I 
think  the  way  will  be  this;  if  he  has  no  objection  to  meet  the 
prince,  we  must  watch  v/hether  the  prince  makes  a  favorable 
impression  on  him,  and  if  that  is  the  case,  and  Lord  Roehamp- 
ton likes  him,  what  we  must  do  next  is  this — -yoiL  must  speak 
to  Lord  Roehampton." 

"  I !" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Ferrars,  you.  Lord  Roehampton  likes  ladies. 
He  is  never  austere  to  them,  even  if  he  refuses  their  requests, 
and  sometimes  he  grants  them.  I  thought  first  of  Mrs.  Neu- 
chatel speaking  to  him,  but  my  wife  will  never  interfere  in 
anything  in  which  money  is  concerned;  then  I  thought  Adri- 
ana  might  express  a  hope  when  they  were  walking  in  the  gar- 
den; but  now  that  is  all  over;  and  so  you  alone  remain.  I 
have  great  confidence  in  you,"  added  Mr.  Neuchatel,  "  I  think 
you  would  do  it  very  well.  Besides,  my  lord  rather  likes  you, 
for  I  have  observed  him  often  go  and  sit  by  you  at  parties  at 
our  house." 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  high-bred  in  that,"  said  Myra,  gravely  and 
rather  sadly ;  "  and  the  fact  of  my  bemg  a  dependent,  I  have 
no  doubt,  influences  him." 

"  We  are  all  dependents  in  this  house,"  said  Mr  Neuchatel, 
with  his  sweetest  smile;  "and  I  depend  upon  Miss  Ferrars." 

Affairs  on  the  whole  went  on  in  a  promising  manner.  The 
weather  was  delightful,  and  Lord  Roehampton  came  down  to 
Hainault  just  in  time  for  dinner,  the  day  after  their  arrival,  and 
in  the  highest  spirits.     He  seemed  to  be  enjoying  a  real  holi- 


172  ENDTMION. 

day;  body  and  mind  were  in  a  like  state  of  expansion;  ne  was 
enchanted  with  the  domain ;  he  was  delighted  with  the  mansion, 
everything  pleased  and  gratified  h'm,and  he  pleased  and  grati- 
fied everybody.  The  party  consisted  only  of  themselves,  ex- 
cept one  of  the  nephews,  with  whom,  indeed.  Lord  Roehamp- 
ton  was  already  acquainted;  a  lively  youth,  a  little  on  the  turf, 
not  too  much,  and  this  suited  Lord  Roehampton,  who  was  a 
statesman  of  the  old  aristocratic  school,  still  bred  horses,  and 
sometimes  ran  one,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  European  crisis  could 
spare  an  hour  to  Newmarket.  Perhaps  it  was  his  only  affecta- 
tion. 

Mrs.  Neuchatel,  by  whom  he  was  seated,  had  the  happy  gift 
of  conversation ;  but  the  party  was  of  that  delightful  dimension 
that  it  permitted  talk  to  be  general.  Myra  sat  next  to  Lord 
Roehampton,  and  he  often  addressed  her.  He  was  the  soul 
of  the  feast,  and  yet  it  is  difficult  to  describe  his  conversation; 
it  was  a  medley  of  graceful  whim,  interspersed  now  and  then 
with  a  very  short  anecdote  of  a  very  famous  person,  or  some 
deeply  interesting  reminiscence  of  some  critical  event.  Every 
now  and  then  he  appealed  to  Adriana,  who  sat  opposite  to  him 
at  the  round  table,  and  she  trusted  that  her  irrepressible  smiles 
would  not  be  interpreted  into  undue  encouragement. 

Lord  Roehampton  had  no  objection  to  meet  Prince  Flore- 
stan,  provided  there  were  no  other  strangers,  and  the  incognito 
was  observed.  He  rather  welcomed  the  proposal,  observing 
he  liked  to  know  public  men  personally;  so  you  can  judge  of 
their  calibre,  which  you  never  can  do  from  books  and  news- 
papers, or  the  oral  reports  of  their  creatures  or  their  enemies. 
And  so  on  the  next  day  Colonel  Albert  was  expected. 

Lord  Roehampton  did  not  appear  till  luncheon ;  he  had  re- 
ceived so  many  boxes  from  Downing  Street  which  required 
his  attention.  "  Business  will  follow  one,"  he  said;  "yesterday 
I  thought  I  had  baffled  it.  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall  do 
without  my  secretaries.  I  think  I  shall  get  you  young  ladies 
to  assist  me." 

"You  cannot  have  better  secretaries,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel; 
*'  Miss  Ferrars  often  helps  me." 

Then  what  was  to  be  done  after  luncheon?  Would  he  ride, 
or  would  he  drive?  And  where  should  they  drive  and  ride  to? 
But  Lord  Roehampton  did  not  much  care  to  drive,  and  was 
tired  of  riding.  He  would  rather  walk  and  ramble  about 
Hainan] t.  He  wanted  to  see  the  j^lace,  and  the  forest  and  the 
fern,  and  perhaps  hear  one  of  those  nightingales  that  they  had 


ENDTMION,  173 

talked  of  in  Portland  Place.  But  Mrs.  Neuchatel  did  not 
care  to  walk,  and  Mr.  Neuchatel,  though  it  was  a  holiday  in 
the  City,  had  a  great  many  letters  to  write,  and  so,  somehow 
or  other,  it  ended  in  Lord  Roehampton  and  the  two  young 
ladies  walking  out  together,  and  remaining  so  long  and  so  late 
that  Mrs.  Neuchatel  absolutely  contemplated  postponing  the 
dinner  hour. 

"  We  shall  just  be  in  time,  dear  Mrs.  Neuchatel,"  said  Myra; 
"  Lord  Roehampton  has  gone  up  to  his  room.  We  have  heard 
a  nightingale,  and  Lord  Roehampton  insisted  upon  our  sitting 
on  the  trunk  of  a  tree  till  it  ceased — and  it  never  ceased." 

Colonel  Albert,  who  had  arrived,  was  presented  to  Lord 
Roehampton  before  dinner.  Lord  Roehampton  received  him 
•with  stately  courtesy.  As  Myra  watched,  not  without  interest, 
the  proceeding,  she  could  scarcely  believe,  as  she  marked  the 
lofty  grace  and  somewhat  haughty  mien  of  Lord  Roehampton, 
that  it  could  be  the  same  being  of  frolic  and  fancy,  and  even 
tender  sentiment,  with  whom  she  had  been  passing  the  preced- 
ing hours. 

Colonel  Albert  sat  next  to  Myra  at  dinner,  and  Lord  Roe- 
hampton between  Mrs.  Neuchatel  and  her  daughter.  His 
manner  was  different  to-day ;  not  less  pleased  and  pleasing,  but 
certainly  more  restrained.  He  encouraged  Mrs.  Neuchatel  to 
occupy  the  chief  part  in  conversation,  and  whispered  to  Adri- 
ana,  who  became  somewhat  uneasy ;  but  the  whispers  mainly 
consisted  of  his  delight  in  their  morning  adventures.  When  he 
remarked  that  it  was  one  of  the  most  agreeable  days  of  his  life, 
she  became  a  little  alarmed.  Then  he  addressed  Colonel 
Albert  across  the  table,  and  said  that  he  had  heard  from  Mr. 
Neuchatel  that  the  colonel  had  been  in  America,  and  asked 
some  questions  about  public  men,  which  brought  him  out. 
Colonel  Albert  answered  with  gentleness  and  modesty,  never 
at  any  length,  but  in  language  which  nidicated,  on  all  the  mat- 
ters referred  to,  thought  and  discrimination. 

"I  suppose  their  society  is  like  the  best  society  in  Man- 
chester?" said  Lord  Roehampton. 

"  It  varies  in  different  cities,"  said  Colonel  Albert.  "  In 
some  there  is  considerable  culture,  and  then  refinement  of  life 
always  follows." 

"  Yes,  but  whatever  they  may  be,  they  will  always  be 
colonial.  What  is  colonial  necessarily  lacks  originality.  A 
country  that  borrows  its  language,  its  laws,  and  its  religion, 
cannot  have  its  inventive  powers  much  developed.     They  got 


174  END1MI0N, 

civilized  very  soon,  but  their  civilization  was  second-hand." 

"  Perhaps  their  inventive  powers  may  develop  themselves  in 
other  ways,"  said  the  prince.  "  A  nation  has  a  fixed  quantity 
of  invention,  and  it  will  make  itself  felt." 

"  At  present,"  said  Lord  Roehampton,  "  the  Americans,  I 
think,  employ  their  invention  in  imaginary  boundary-lines. 
They  are  giving  us  plenty  of  trouble  now  about  Maine." 

After  dinner  they  had  some  music;  Lord  Roehampton 
would  not  play  whist.  He  insisted  on  comparing  the  voices 
of  his  companions  with  that  of  the  nightingale  of  the  morning. 
He  talked  a  great  deal  to  Adriana,  and  Colonel  Albert,  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  much  to  Myra,  and  about  her  brother. 
Lord  Roehampton  more  than  once  had  wished  to  tell  her,  as 
he  had  already  told  Miss  Neuchatel,  how  delightful  had  been 
their  morning;  but  on  every  occasion  he  had  found  her  engaged 
with  the  colonel. 

"  I  rather  like  your  prince,"  he  had  observed  to  Mr.  Neu- 
chatel, as  they  came  from  the  dining-room.  "  He  never  speaks 
without  thinking;  very  reserved,  I  apprehend.  They  say,  an 
inveterate  conspirator." 

"  He  has  had  enough  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel.  "  I  be- 
lieve he  wants  to  be  quiet." 

"  That  class  of  man  is  never  quiet,"  said  Lord  Roehampton. 

"  But  what  can  he  do?"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel. 

"  What  can  he  not  do  ?  Half  Europe  is  in  a  state  of  chronic 
conspiracy." 

"  You  must  keep  us  right,  my  dear  lord.  So  long  as  you 
are  in  Downing  Street  I  shall  sleep  at  nights." 

"  Miss  Ferrars,"  said  Lord  Roehampton  abruptly  to  Mr. 
Neuchatel,  "  must  have  been  the  daughter  of  William  Ferrars, 
one  of  my  great  friends,  in  old  days.  I  never  knew  it  till  to- 
day, and  she  did  not  tell  me,  but  it  flashed  across  me  from 
something  she  said." 

"  Yes,  she  is  his  daughter,  and  is  in  mourning  for  him  at  this 
moment.  She  has  had  sorrows,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel.  "  I 
hope  they  have  ceased.  It  was  one  of  the  happiest  days  of 
my  life  when  she  entered  this  family." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Lord  Roehampton. 

The  next  day,  after  they  had  examined  the  famous  stud  and 
stables,  there  was  a  riding  party,  and  in  the  evening  Colonel 
Albert  offered  to  perform  some  American  conjuring  tricks,  of 
which  he  had  been  speaking  in  the  course  of  the  day.  This 
was  a  most  wonderful  performance,  and  surprised  and  highly 


ENDTMION,  175 

amused  everybody.  Colonel  Albert  was  the  last  person  who 
they  expected  would  achieve  such  marvels;  he  was  so  quiet, 
not  to  say  grave.  They  could  hardly  credit  that  he  was  the 
same  person  as  he  poured  floods  of  flowers  over  Myra  from 
her  own  borrowed  pocket  handkerchief,  and  without  the 
slightest  effort  or  embarrassment  robbed  Lord  Roehampton  of 
his  watch,  and  deposited  it  in  Adriana's  bosom.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  he  was  a  complete  master  of  sleight-of-hand. 

"  Characteristic,"  murmured  Lord  Roehampton  to  himself. 

It  was  the  day  after  this  that,  Myra  being  in  the  music- 
room  and  alone.  Lord  Roehampton  opened  the  [door,  looked 
in,  and  then  said,  "Where  is  Miss  Neuchatel?" 

"  I  think  she  is  on  the  terrace." 

"  Let  us  try  to  find  her,  and  have  one  of  our  pleasant  strolls. 
I  sadly  want  one,  for  I  have  been  working  very  hard  all  this 
morning,  and  half  the  night." 

"  I  will  be  with  you.  Lord  Roehampton,  in  a  moment." 

"  Do  not  let  us  have  anybody  else,"  he  said,  as  she  left  the 
room. 

They  were  soon  on  the  terrace,  but  Adriana  was  not  there. 

"  We  must  find  her,"  said  Lord  Roehampton ;  "  you  know 
her  haunts.  Ah!  what  a  delight  it  is  to  be  in  this  air  and  this 
scene  after  those  dreadful  boxes!  I  wish  they  would  turn  us 
out.     I  think  they  must  soon." 

"  Now,  for  the  first  time,"  said  Myra,  "  Lord  Roehampton 
is  not  sincere." 

"  Then  you  think  me  always  sincere?"  he  replied. 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  think  you  otherwise." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  Lord  Roehampton,  "  truer  perhaps 
than  you  imagine."  Then  rather  abruptly  he  said,  "You 
know  Colonel  Albert  very  well  ?" 

"  Pretty  well.  I  have  seen  him  here  frequently,  and  he  is 
also  a  friend  of  my  brother." 

"  Ah!  a  friend  of  your  brother."  Then,  after  a  slight  pause, 
he  said,  "  He  is  an  interesting  man." 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Myra.  "  You  know  all  about  him,  of 
course." 

"  Very  good-looking." 

"  Well,  he  looks  unhappy,  I  think,  and  worn." 

"  One  is  never  worn  when  one  is  young,"  said  Lord  Roe- 
hampton. 

"  He  must  have  great  anxieties  and  great  sorrows,"  said 
Myra.  "I  cannot  imagine  a  position  more  unfortunate  than 
that  of  an  exiled  prince." 


176  END  TM ION. 

"  I  can,"  said  Lord  Roehampton.  "  To  have  the  feelings  of 
youth  and  the  frame  of  age." 

Myra  was  silent,  one  might  say  dumfounded.  She  had  just 
screwed  herself  up  to  the  task  which  Mr.  Neuchatel  had 
imposed  on  her,  and  was  about  to  appeal  to  the  good  offices  of 
Lord  Roehampton  in  favor  of  the  prince,  when  he  had 
indulged  in  a  remark  which  was  not  only  somewhat  strange, 
but  from  the  manner  in  which  it  was  introduced  hardly  harmo- 
nized with  her  purpose. 

"  Yes,  I  would  give  up  everything,"  saidjLord  Roehampton. 
"  I  would  even  be  an  exile  to  be  young ;  to  hear  that  Miss 
Ferrars  deems  me  interesting  and  good-looking,  though 
w^orn." 

"What  is  going  to  happen?"  thought  Myra.  "Will  the 
earth  open  to  receive  me!" 

"  You  are  silent,"  said  Lord  Roehampton.  "  You  will  not 
speak,  you  will  not  sigh,  you  will  not  give  a  glance  of  consola- 
tion or  even  pity.  But  I  have  spoken  too  much  not  to  say 
more.  Beautiful,  fascinating  being,  let  me  at  least  tell  you  of 
my  love." 

Myra  could  not  speak,  but  put  her  left  hand  to  her  face. 
Gently  taking  her  other  hand.  Lord  Roehampton  pressed  it  to 
his  lips.  "  From  the  first  moment  I  met  you,  my  heart  was 
yours.  It  was  love  at  first  sight;  indeed  I  believe  in  no  other. 
I  was  amused  with  the  projects  of  my  friend,  and  I  availed 
myself  of  them,  but  not  unfairly.  No  one  can  accuse  me  of 
trifling  with  the  aflfections  of  your  sweet  friend,  and  I  must  do 
her  the  justice  to  say  that  she  did  everything  to  convince  me 
that  she  shrank  from  my  attentions.  But  her  society  was  an 
excuse  to  enjoy  yours.  I  was  an  habitual  visitor  in  town  that  I 
might  cherish  my  love,  and,  dare  I  say  it,  I  came  down  here  to 
declare  it.  Do  not  despise  it,  dearest  of  women ;  it  is  not  wor- 
thy of  you,  but  it  is  not  altogether  undeserving.  It  is,  as  vou 
kindly  believed  it — it  is  sincere !  " 

CHAPTER   XLV. 

On  the  following  day,  Mr.  Neuchatel  had  good-naturedly 
invited  Endymion  down  to  Hainault,  and  when  he  arrived 
there  a  servant  informed  him  that  Miss  Ferrars  wished  to  see 
him  in  her  room. 

It  was  a  long  interview  and  an  agitated  one,  and  when  she 
had  told  her  tale  and  her  brother  had  embraced  her,  she  sat  for 


ENDTMION.  177 

a  time  in  silence,  holding  his  hand,  and  intimating  that,  for  a 
while,  she  wished  that  neither  of  them  should  speak.  Sud- 
denly she  resumed,  and  said,  "  Now  you  know  all,  dear  darling; 
it  is  so  sudden,  and  so  strange,  that  you  must  be  almost  as  much 
astounded  as  gratified.  What  I  have  sighed  for,  and  prayed 
for — what,  in  moments  of  inspiration,  I  have  sometimes  fore- 
seen— has  happened.  Our  degradation  is  over.  I  seem  to 
breathe  for  the  first  time  for  many  years.  I  see  a  career,  ay, 
and  a  great  one ;  and  what  is  far  more  important,  I  see  a  career 
for  you." 

"  At  this  moment,  dear  Myra,  think  only  of  yourself." 

"  You  are  myself,"  she  replied,  rather  quickly,  "  never  more 
so  than  at  this  moment;"  and  then  she  said  in  a  tone  more  sub- 
dued, and  even  tender,  "  Lord  Roehampton  has  every  quality 
and  every  accident  of  life  that  I  delight  in;  he  has  intellect, 
eloquence,  courage,  great  station,  and  power;  and,  what  I 
ought  perhaps  more  to  consider,  though  I  do  not,  a  sweet  dis- 
position and  a  tender  heart.  There  is  every  reason  why  we 
should  be  happy — yes,  very  happy.  I  am  sure  I  shall  sympa- 
thize with  him ;  perhaps  I  may  aid  him ;  at  least,  he  thinks  so. 
He  is  the  noblest  of  men.  The  world  will  talk  of  the  dispar- 
ity of  our  years;  but  Lord  Roehampton  says  that  he  is  really 
the  younger  of  the  two,  and  I  think  he  is  right.  My  pride^ 
my  intense  pride,  never  permitted  me  any  levity  of  heart." 

"And  when  is  it  to  happen?"  inquired  Endymion. 

"  Not  immediately.  I  could  not  marry  till  a  year  had  elapsed 
after  our  great  sorrow ;  and  it  is  more  agreeable,  even  to  him, 
that  our  union  should  be  delayed  till  the  session  is  over.  He 
wants  to  leave  England;  go  abroad;  have  a  real  holiday.  He 
has  always  had  a  dream  of  traveling  in  Spain ;  well,  we  are  to 
realize  the  dream.  If  we  could  get  off  at  the  end  of  July,  we 
might  go  to  Paris,  and  then  to  Madrid,  and  travel  in  Andalusia 
in  the  autumn,  and  then  catch  the  packet  at  Gibraltar,  and  get 
home  just  in  time  for  the  November  cabinets." 

"Dear  Myra!  how  wonderful  it  all  seems!"  involuntarily 
exclaimed  Endym.ion. 

"  Yes,  but  more  wonderful  things  will  happen.  We  have 
now  got  a  lever  to  move  the  world.  Understand,  my  dear 
Endymion,  that  nothing  is  to  be  announced  at  present.  It  will 
be  known  only  to  this  family,  and  the  Penruddocks.  I  am 
bound  to  tell  them,  even  immediately;  they  are  friends  that 
never  can  be  forgotten.  I  have  always  kept  my  correspondence 
up  with  Mrs.  Penruddock.     Besides,  I  shall  tell  her  in  confi- 


lyS  ENDTMION. 

dence,  and  she  is  perfectly  to  be  depended  on.     I  am  going  to 
ask  my  lord  to  let  Mr.  Penruddock  marry  us." 

"Oh!  that  will  be  capital,"  said  Endymion. 
^  "  There  is  another  person,  by-the-bye,  who  must  known  it-; 
at  least,  my  lord  says  so,"  said  Myra,  "  and  that  is  Lady  Mont- 
fort;  you  have  heard  of  that  lady  and  her  plans.  Well,  she 
must  be  told — at  least,  sooner  or  later.  She  will  be  annoyed, 
and  she  will  hate  me.  I  cannot  help  it;  every  one  is  hated  by 
somebody. 

During  the  three  months  that  had  to  elapse  before  the  happy 
day,  several  incidents  occurred  that  ought  to  be  noted.  In  the 
first  place,  Lady  Montfort,  though  disappointed,  and  very 
much  astonished,  bore  the  communication  from  Lord  Roe- 
hampton  more  kindly  than  he  had  anticipated.  Lord  Roe- 
hampton  made  it  by  letter,  and  his  letters  to  women  were  more 
happy  even  than  hia  despatches  to  ministers,  and  they  were 
unrivalled.  He  put  the  matter  in  the  most  skilful  form.  My- 
ra had  been  born  in  a  social  position  not  inferior  to  his  "own, 
and  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  his  early  political  friends. 
He  did  not  dilate  too  much  on  her  charms  and  captivating 
qualities,  but  sufficiently  for  the  dignity  of  her  who  was  to  be- 
come his  wife.  And  then  he  confessed  to  Lady  Montfort  how 
completely  his  heart  and  happiness  were  set  on  Lady  Roe- 
hampton  being  welcomed  becomingly  by  his  friends;  he  was 
well  aware  that,  in  these  matters,  things  did  not  always  pro- 
ceed as  one  could  wish,  but  this  was  the  moment  and  this  the 
occasion  to  test  a  friend,  and  he  believed  he  had  the  dearest, 
the  most  faithful,  the  most  fascinating-,  and  the  most  powerful 
in  Lady  Montfort. 

"  Well,  we  must  put  the  best  face  upon  it,"  exclaimed 
that  lady ;  "  he  was  always  romantic.  But,  as  he  says,  or 
thinks,  what  is  the  use  of  friends  if  they  do  not  help  yoii  "in  a 
scrape  ?" 

So  Lady.  Montfort  made  the  acquaintance  of  Myra,  and 
welcomed  her  new  acquaintance  cordially.  She  was  too  fine 
a  judge  of  beauty  and  deportment  not  to  appreciate  them, 
even  when  a  little  prejudice  lurked  behind.  She  was  amused 
also,  and  a  little  gratified,  by  being  in  the  secret;  presented 
Myra  with  a  rare  jewel,  and  declared  that  she  should  attend 
the  wedding;  tliough  when  the  day  arrived  she  was  at  Prince- 
down,  and  could  not  unfortunately  leave  her  lord. 

About  the  end  of  June  a  rather  remarkable  paragraph  ap- 
peared in  the  journal  of  society : 


ENDTMION,  179 

"  We  understand  that  his  Royal  Highness,  Prince  Florestan, 
who  has  been  for  some  Httle  time  in  this  country,  has  taken 
the  mansion  in  Carlton  Gardens  recently  occupied  by  the  Mar- 
•quis  of  Katterfelto.  The  mansion  is  underj^oing  very  consider- 
able repairs,  but  it  is  calculated  that  it  will  be  completed  in  time 
for  the  reception  of  his  Royal  Highness  by  the  end  of  the 
autumn ;  his  Royal  Highness  has  taken  the  extensive  moors  of 
Dinniewhiskie  for  the  coming  season." 

In  the  earlier  part  of  July,  the  approaching  alliance  of  the 
Earl  of  Roehampton  with  Miss  Ferrars,  the  only  daughter  of 
the  late  Right  Honorable  William  Pitt  Ferrars,  of  Hurstley 
Hall,  in  the  county  of  Berks,  was  announced,  and  great  was 
the  sensation,  and  innumerable  the  presents  instantly  ordered. 

But  on  no  one  did  the  announcement  produce  a  greater 
effect  than  on  Zenobia;  t  at  the  daughter  of  her  dearest  friend 
should  make  so  interesting  and  so  distinguished  an  alliance  was 
naturally  most  gratifying  to  her.  She  wrote  to  Myra  a  most 
impassioned  letter,  as  if  they  had  only  separated  yesterday,  and 
a  still  longer  and  more  fervent  one  to  Lord  Roehampton;  Zen- 
obia and  he  had  been  close  friends  in  other  days,  till  he  wick- 
edly changed  his  politics,  and  was  always  in  office  and  Zenobia 
always  out.  This  was  never  to  be  forgiven.  But  the  bright 
lady  forgot  all  this  now,  and  sent  to  Myra  the  most  wondrous 
bracelet  of  precious  stones,  in  which  the  woid  "  Souvenir"  was 
represented  in  brilliants,  rubies,  and  emeralds. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Myra  to  Endymion,  "  my  most  difficult 
task  are  the  bridesmaids.  I  am  to  have  so  many,  and  know  so 
few.  I  feel  like  a  recruiting  sergeant.  I  began  with  Adriana, 
but  my  lord  helps  me  very  much  out  of  his  family,  and  says 
when  we  nave  had  a  few  family  dinners,  all  will  be  right." 

Endymion  did  not  receive  the  banter  he  expected  at  the 
office.  The  event  was  too  great  for  a  jest.  Seymour  Hicks, 
with  a  serious  countenance,  said  Ferrars  might  get  anywhere 
now — all  the  ministerial  receptions  of  course.  Jawett  said  there 
would  be  no  ministerial  receptions  soon ;  they  were  degrading 
functions.  Clear-headed  Trenchard  congratulated  him  quietly 
and  said,  "  I  do  not  think  you  will  stay  much  longer  among  us, 
but  we  shall  always  remember-you  with  interest." 

At  last  the  great  day  arrived,  and  at  St.  George's,  Hanover 
Square,  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of  Roehampton,  K.  G., 
was  united  to  Miss  Ferrars.  Mr.  Penruddock  joined  their 
hands.  His  son,  Nigel,  had  been  invited  to  assist  him,  but  did 
not  appear,  though  Myra  had    written   to  him.     The   great 


i8o  ENDTMION. 

world  assembled  in  force,  and  Endymion  observed  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Rodney  and  Imogene  in  the  body  of  the  church.  After 
the  ceremony  there  was  an  entertainment  in  Portland  Place, 
and  the  world  ate  ortolans  and  examined  the  presents.  These 
were  remarkable  for  number  and  splendor.  Myra  could  not 
conceal  her  astonishment  at  possessing  so  many  friends ;  but  it 
was  the  fashion  for  all  Lord  Roehampton's  acquaintance  to 
make  him  offerings,  and  to  solicit  his  permission  to  present 
gifts  to  his  bride.  Mr.  Neuchatel  placed  on  her  brow  a  dia- 
mond tiara,  and  Mrs.  Neuchatel  encircled  her  neck  with  one  of 
her  diamond  necklaces.  "  I  should  like  to  give  the  other  one 
to  Adriana,"  she  observed,  "  but  Adriana  says  that  nothing  will 
ever  induce  her  to  wear  jewels."  Prince  Florestan  presented 
Lady  Roehampton  with  a  vase  which  had  belonged  to  his 
mother,  and  which  had  been  painted  by  Boucher  for  Marie 
Antoinette.     It  was  matchless,  and  almost  unique. 

Not  long  after  this.  Lord  Beaumaris,  with  many  servants 
and  many  guns,  took  Waldershare  and  Endymion  down  with 
him  to  Scotland. 

CHAPTER  XLVL 

The  end  of  the  season  is  a  pang  to  society.  More  hopes 
have  been  baffled  than  realized.  There  is  something  melan- 
choly in  the  last  ball,  though  the  music  ever  seems  louder  and 
the  lights  more  glaring  than  usual.  Or  it  may  be  the  last  en- 
tertaniment  is  that  hecatomb  they  call  a  wedding  breakfast, 
which  celebrates  the  triumph  of  a  rival.  That  is  pleasant. 
Society,  to  do  it  justice,  struggles  hard  to  revive  in  other  scenes 
the  excitement  that  has  expired.  It  sails  to  Cowes,  it  scuds  to 
bubbling  waters  in  the  pine-forests  of  the  Continent,  it  stalks 
even  into  Scotland ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  restore  the  romance  that 
has  been  rudely  disturbed,  and  to  gather  again  together  the 
threads  of  the  intrigue  that  have  been  lost  in  the  wild  flignt  of 
society  from  that  metropolis  which  is  now  described  as  "  a  per- 
fect desert " — that  is  to  say,  a  park  or  so,  two  or  three  squares, 
and  a  dozen  streets  where  society  lives;  where  it  dines,  and 
dances,  and  blackballs,  and  bets,  and  spouts. 

But  to  the  world  in  general,  the  mighty  million,  to  the  pro- 
fessional classes,  to  all  men  of  all  business  whatever,  the  end  of 
the  season  is  the  beginning  of  carnival.  It  is  the  fulfilment  of 
the  dream  over  which  they  have  been  brooding  for  ten  months, 
which  has  sustained  them  in  toil,  lightened  anxiety,  and  softened 


ENDTMION.  i8i 

even  loss.  It  Is  air,  it  is  health,  it  is  movement,  it  is  liberty,  it 
is  nature — earth,  sea,  lake,  moor,  forest,  mountain,  and  river. 
From  the  heic^hts  of  the  Engadine  to  Margate  Pier  there  is 
equal  rapture,  for  there  is  an  equal  cessation  of  routine. 

Few  enjoy  a  holiday  more  than  a  young  clerk  in  a  public 
office,  who  has  been  bred  in  a  gentle  home,  and  enjoyed  in  his 
boyhood  all  the  pastimes  of  gentlemen.  Now  he  is  ever  toil- 
ing, with  an  uncertain  prospect  of  annual  relaxation,  and  living 
hardly.  Once  on  a  time,  at  the  paternal  hall,  he  could  shoot 
or  fish  or  ride,  every  day  of  his  life,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  and 
now,  what  would  he  not  give  for  a  good  day's  sport?  Such 
thoughts  had  frequently  crossed  the  mind  of  Endymion  when 
drudging  in  London  during  the  autumn,  and  when  all  his  few 
acquaintances  were  away.  It  was,  therefore,  with  no  ordinary 
zest  that  he  looked  forward  to  the  unexpected  enjoyment  of  an 
unstinted  share  of  some  of  the  best  shooting  in  the  United 
Kingdom.  And  the  relaxation  and  the  pastime  came  just  at 
the  right  moment,  when  the  reaction  from  all  the  excitement 
attendant  on  the  marvellous  change  in  his  sister's  position 
would  have  made  him,  deprived  of  her  consoling  society, 
doubly  sensible  of  his  isolated  position. 

It  so  happened  that  the  moors  of  Lord  Beaumaris  were  con- 
tiguous to  the  celebrated  shootings  of  Dinniewhiskie,  which 
were  rented  by  Prince  Florestan,  and  the  opportunity  now  of- 
fered which  Waldershare  desired  of  making  the  acquaintance 
of  the  prince  in  an  easy  manner.  Endymion  managed  this  very 
cleverly.  Waldershare  took  a  great  fancy  to  the  prince.  He 
sympathized  with  him,  and  imparted  to  Endymion  his  belief 
that  they  could  not  do  a  better  thing  than  devote  their  energies 
to  a  restoration  of  his  rights.  Lord  Beaumaris,  who  hated 
foreigners,  but  who  was  always  influenced  by  Waldershare, 
also  liked  the  prince,  and  was  glad  to  be  reminded  by  his 
mentor  that  Florestan  was  half  an  Englishman,  not  to  say  a 
whole  one,  for  he  was  an  Eton  boy.  What  was  equally  influ- 
ential with  Lord  Beaumaris  was,  that  the  prince  was  a  fine 
shot,  and  indeed  a  consummate  sportsman,  and  had  in  his  man- 
ners that  calm  which  is  rather  unusual  with  foreigners,  and 
which  is  always  pleasing  to  an  English  aristocrat.  So  in  time 
they  became  intimate,  sported  much  together,  and  visited  each 
other  at  their  respective  quarters.  The  prince  was  never  alone. 
What  the  county  paper  described  as  distinguished  foreigners 
were  perpetually  paying  him  visits,  long  or  short,  and  it  did 
not  generally  appear  that  these  visits  were  influenced  by  a  love 


t82  ENDTMION. 

of  sport.  One  individual,  who  arrived  shortly  after  the  prmce, 
remained,  and,  as  was  soon  known,  was  to  remain  loermanently. 
This  was  a  young  gentleman,  short  and  swarthy,  with  flashing 
eyes  and  a  black  mustache,  known  by  the  name  of  the  Duke 
of  St.  Angelo,  but  who  was  really  only  a  cadet  of  that  illustri- 
ous house.  The  Duke  of  St.  Angelo  took  the  management  of 
the  household  of  the  prince — was  evidently  the  controller; 
servants  trembled  at  his  nod,  and  he  rode  any  horse  he  liked; 
he  invited  guests,  and  arranged  the  etiquette  of  the  interior. 
He  said  one  day  very  coolly  to  Waldershare :  "  I  observe  that 
Lord  Beaumaris  and  his  friends  never  rise  when  the  prince 
moves." 

"Why  should  we?" 

"  His  rank  is  recognized  and  guaranteed  by  the  Treaty  of 
Vienna,"  said  the  Duke  of  St.  Angelo,  with  an  arrogant  air. 

"His  princely  rank,"  replied  Waldershare,  "but  not  his 
royalty." 

"  That  is  mere  refinement,"  said  the  duke,  contemptuously. 

"  On  the  contrary,  a  clear  distinction,  and  specifically  made 
in  the  treaty.  I  do  not  think  the  prince  himself  would  desire 
such  a  ceremony,  and  let  me  recommend  you,  duke,"  added 
Waldershare,  "  not  to  go  out  of  your  way  to  insist  on  these 
points.     They  will  not  increase  the  prince's  popularity." 

"  The  time  will  come,  and  before  long,  when  the  Treaty  of 
Vienna,  with  its  clear  distinctions,  will  be  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Red  Sea,"  said  the  Duke  of  St.  Angelo,  "  and  then  no  one  will 
sit  when  his  Majesty  rises." 

"Amen!"  said  Waldershare.  "All  diplomacy  since  the 
Treaty  of  Utrecht  seems  to  me  to  be  fiddle-faddle,  and  the 
country  rewarded  the  great  man  who  made  that  treaty  by  an 
attainder." 

Endymion  returned  to  town  towards  the  end  of  September, 
Waldershare  went  to  Paris,  and  Lord  Beaumaris  and  the 
prince,  who  had  become  intimate,  repaired  together  to  Con- 
ington,  the  seat  of  Lord  Beaumaris,  to  kill  pheasants.  Even 
the  Rodneys,  who  had  gone  to  the  Rhine  this  year,  had  not 
returned.  Endymion  had  only  the  society  of  his  fellow-clerks. 
He  liked  Trenchard,  who  was  acute,  full  of  oflicial  informa- 
tion, and  of  gentle  breeding.  Still  it  must  be  confessed  that 
Endymion  felt  the  change  in  his  society.  Seymour  Hicks  was 
hardly  a  fit  successor  to  Waldershare,  and  Jawett's  rabid  ab- 
stractions on  governinent  were  certainly  not  so  interesting  as 
la  haute  politique  of  the  Duke  of  St.  Angelo.     Were  it  not 


ENDTMIOjW  1S3 

for  the  letters  which  he  constantly  received  from  his  sister,  he 
woiikl  have  felt  a  little  despondent.  As  it  was,  he  renewed 
his  studies  in  his  pleasant  garret,  trained  himself  in  his  French 
and  German,  and  got  up  several  questions  for  the  Union. 

The  month  seemed  very  long,  but  it  was  not  unprofitably 
spent.  The  Rodneys  were  still  absent.  They  had  not  re- 
turned as  they  had  intended  direct  to  England,  but  had  gone 
to  Paris  to  meet  Mr.  Waldershare. 

At  the  end  of  October  there  was  a  semi-official  paragraph 
announcing  the  approaching  meeting  of  the  cabinet,  and  the 
movements  of  its  members.  Some  were  in  the  north,  and 
some  were  in  the  south;  some  were  killing  the  last  grouse, 
and  some,  placed  in  green  ridings,  were  blazing  in  battues. 
But  all  were  to  be  at  their  post  in  ten  days,  and  there  was  a 
special  notification  that  intelligence  had  been  received  of  the 
arrival  of  Lord  and  Lady  Roehampton  at  Gibralter. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

Lady  Roehampton  in  her  stately  mansion  in  St.  James's 
Square,  found  life  very  different  from  what  she  had  experienced 
in  her  Andalusian  dream.  For  three  months  she  had  been  the 
constant  companion  of  one  of  the  niost  fascinating  of  men, 
whose  only  object  had  been  to  charm  and  delight  her.  And 
in  this  he  had  entirely  succeeded.  From  the  moment  they 
arrived  in  London,  however,  they  seemed  to  be  separated,  and 
although,  when  they  met,  there  was  ever  a  sweet  smile  and  a 
kind  and  playful  word  for  her,  his  brow,  if  not  oppressed  with 
care  was  always  weighty  with  thought.  Lord  Roehampton 
was  little  at  his  office;  he  worked  in  a  spacious  chamber  on  the 
ground  floor  of  his  private  residence,  and  which  was  called  the 
library,  though  its  literature  consisted  only  of  Hansard,  volumes 
of  state  papers,  shelves  of  treatises,  and  interminable  folios  of 
parliamentary  reports.  He  had  not  been  at  home  a  week 
before  the  floor  of  the  apartment  was  literally  covered  with 
red  boxes,  all  containing  documents  requiring  attention,  and 
which  messengers  were  perpetually  bringing  or  carrying  away. 
Then  there  were  long  meetings  of  the  cabinet  almost  daily, 
and  daily  visits  from  ambassadors  and  foreign  ministers,  which 
prevented  the  transaction  of  the  current  business,  and  rendered 
it  necessary  that  Lord  Roehampton  should  sit  up  late  in  his 
cabinet,  and  work  sometimes  nearly  till  the  hours  of  dawn. 


i84  ENDTMION. 

There  had  been  of  course,  too,  some  arrears  of  business,  for 
secretaries  of  state  cannot  indulge  with  impunity  in  Andalusian 
dreams,  but  Lord  Roehampton  was  well  served.  His  under- 
secretaries of  state  were  capable  and  experienced  men,  and 
their  chief  had  not  been  altogether  idle  in  his  wanderings. 
He  had  visited  Paris,  and  the  capital  of  France  in  those  days 
was  the  capital  of  diplomacy.  The  visit  of  Lord  Roehampton 
had  settled  some  questions  which  might  have  lingered  for 
years,  and  had  given  him  that  opportunity  of  personal  survey 
which  to  a  statesman  is  invaluable. 

Although  it  was  not  the  season,  the  great  desert  had,  com- 
paratively speaking,  again  become  peopled.  There  were  many 
persons  in  town,  and  they  all  called  immediately  on  Lady 
Roehampton.  The  ministerial  families  and  the  diplomatic  corps 
alone  form  a  circle,  but  there  is  also  a  certain  number  of 
charming  people  who  love  London  in  November,  and  there 
lead  a  wondrous  pleasant  life  of  real  amusement,  until  their 
feudal  traditions  and  their  domestic  duties  summon  them 
back  to  their  Christmas  homes. 

Lord  and  Lady  Roehampton  gave  constant  dinners,  and 
after  they  had  tried  two  or  three,  he  expressed  his  wish  to  his 
wife  that  she  should  hold  a  small  reception  after  these  dinners. 
He  was  a  man  of  great  tact,  and  he  wished  to  launch  his 
wife  quietly  and  safely  on  the  social  ocean.  "  There  is  nothing 
like  practicing  before  Christmas,  my  love,"  he  would  say, 
"  you  will  get  your  hand  in,  and  be  able  to  hold  regular  recep- 
tions in  the  spring."  And  he  was  quite  right.  The  dinners 
became  the  mode,  and  the  assemblies  were  eagerly  appreciated. 
The  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  whispered  to  an  Under-secre- 
tary  of  State — "  This  marriage  was  a  coup.  We  have  got 
another  house." 

Myra  had  been  a  little  anxious  about  the  relations  between 
Lord  Roehampton  and  her  brother.  She  felt  with  a  woman's 
instinct  that  her  husband  might  not  be  overpleased  by  her  de- 
votion to  Endymion,  and  she  could  not  resist  the  conviction 
that  the  disparity  of  age  which  is  easily  forgotten  in  a  wife,  and 
especially  in  a  wife  who  adores  you,  assumes  a  different  and 
somewhat  distasteful  character  when  a  great  statesman  is 
obliged  to  recognize  it  in  the  shape  of  a  boyish  brother-in-law. 
But  all  went  right,  for  the  sweetness  of  Lord  Roehampton's 
temper  was  inexhaustible.  Endymion  had  paid  several  visits 
to  St.  James's  Square  before  Myra  could  seize  the  opportunity, 
for  which  she  was  ever  watching,  to  make  her  husband  and 
her  brother  acquainted. 


ENDTMION.  185 

"  And  so  you  are  one  of  us,"  said  Lord  Roehampton,  with 
his  sweetest  smile  and  in  his  most  musical  tone,  "  and  in  office. 
We  must  try  to  give  you  a  lift."  And  then  he  asked  Endy- 
mion  who  was  his  chief,  and  how  he  liked  him,  and  then  he 
said,  "  A  good  deal  depends  on  a  man's  chief.  I  was  under 
your  grandfather  when  I  first  entered  Parliament,  and  I  never 
knew  a  pleasanter  man  to  do  business  with.  He  never  made 
difficulties;  he  always  encouraged  one.    A  younker  likejs  that." 

Lady  Roehampton  was  desirous  of  paying  some  attention 
to  all  those  who  had  been  kind  to  her  brother,  particularly  Mr. 
Waldershare  and  Lord  Beaumaris,  and  she  wished  to  invite 
them  to  her  house.  "  I  am  sure  Waldershare  would  like  to 
come,"  said  Endymion,  "  but  Lord  Beaumaris,  I  know,  never 
goes  anywhere,  and  I  have  myself  heard  him  say  he  never 
would." 

"  Yes,  my  lord  was  telling  me  Lord  Beaumaris  was  quite 
farouche^  and  it  is  feared  that  we  may  lose  him.  That  would 
be  sad,"  said  Myra,  "  for  he  is  powerful." 

"  I  should  like  very  much  if  you  could  give  me  a  card  for 
Mr.  Trenchard,"  said  Endymion;  "he  is  not  in  society,  but  he 
is  quite  a  gentleman." 

"  You  shall  have  it,  my  dear.  I  have  always  liked  Mr. 
Trenchard,  and  I  dare  say,  some  day  or  other,  he  may  be  of 
use  to  you." 

The  Neuchatels  were  not  in  town,  but  Myra  saw  them  fre-. 
quently,  and  Mr.  Neuchatel  often  dined  in  St.  James's  Square, 
but  the  ladies  always  declined  every  invitation  of  the  kind. 
They  came  up  from  Hainault  to  see  Myra,  but  looked  as  if 
nothing  but  their  great  affection  would  prompt  such  a  sacrifice, 
and  seemed  always  pining  for  Arcadia.  Endymion,  however, 
not  unfrequently  continued  his  Sunday  visits  to  Hainault,  to 
which  Mr.  Neuchatel  had  given  him  a  general  welcome.  This 
young  gentleman,  indeed,  soon  experienced  a  considerable 
change  in  his  social  position.  Invitations  flocked  to  him,  and 
often  from  persons  whom  he  did  not  know,  and  who  did  not 
even  know  him.  He  went  by  the  name  of  Lady  Roehamp- 
ton's  brother,  and  that  was  a  sufficient  passport. 

"We  are  trying  to  get  up  a  carpet-dance  to-night,"  said 
Belinda  to  a  fair  friend.     "  What  men  are  in  town?  " 

"  Well,  there  is  Mr.  Waldershare,  who  has  just  left  me." 

"  I  have  asked  him." 

"  Then  there  is  Lord  Willesden  and  Henry  Grantley,  I  know 
they  are  passing  through  town — arid  there  is  the  new  man, 
Lady  Roehampton's  brother," 


i86  ENDTMION, 

"  I  will  sena  to  Lord  Wlllesden  and  Henry  Grantley  im- 
mediately, and  perhaps  you  will  send  a  card,  which  I  will  write 
here,  for  me  to  the  new  man." 

And  in  this  way  Mr.  Ferrars  soon  found  that  he  was  what 
is  called  "  everywhere." 

One  of  the  most  interesting  acquaintances  that  Lady  Roe- 
hampton  made  was  a  colleague  of  her  husband,  and  that  was 
Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  once  the  intimate  friend  of  her  father.  He 
had  known  herself  and  her  brother  when  they  were  children, 
indeed  from  the  cradle.  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  was  in  the  per- 
fection of  middle  life,  and  looked  young  for  his  years.  He  was 
tall  and  pensive,  and  naturally  sentimental,  though  a  long 
political  career,  for  he  had  entered  the  House  of  Commons  for 
the  family  borough  the  instant  he  was  of  age,  had  brought  to 
this  susceptibility  a  salutary  hardness.  Although  somewhat 
alienated  from  the  friend  of  his  youth  by  the  course  of  affairs, 
for  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  had  followed  Lord  Roehampton,  while 
Mr.  Ferrars  had  adhered  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  he  had 
not  neglected  Ferrars  in  his  fall,  but  his  offers  of  assistance, 
frankly  and  generously  made,  had  been  coldly  though  cour- 
teously rejected,  and  no  encouragement  had  been  given  to  the 
maintenance  of  their  once  intimate  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  was  much  struck  by  the  appearance  of 
Lady  Roehampton.  He  tried  to  compare  the  fulfilment  of  her 
promise  with  the  beautiful  and  haughty  child  whom  he  used  to 
wonder  her  parents  so  extravagantly  spoiled.  Her  stature  was 
above  the  average  height  of  women,  and  finely  developed  and 
'  proportioned.  But  it  was  in  the  countenance,  in  the  pellucid 
and  commanding  brow,  the  deep  splendor  of  her  dark  blue 
eyes  softened  by  long  lashes,  her  short  upper  lip,  and  the  rich 
profusion  of  her  dark  chestnut  hair — that  his  roused  memory 
recalled  the  past;  and  he  fell  into  a  mood  of  agitated  con- 
templation. 

The  opportunities  which  he  enjoyed  of  cultivating  her  society 
were  numerous,  and  Mr.  Wilton  missed  none.  He  was  fre- 
quently her  guest,  and  being  himself  the  master  of  a  splendid 
establishment,  he  could  offer  her  a  hospitality  which  every  one 
appreciated.  Lord  Roehampton  was  peculiarly  his  political 
chief,  and  they  had  always  been  socially  intimate.  As  the 
trusted  colleague  of  her  husband — as  one  who  had  known  her 
in  her  childhood,  and  as  himself  a  man  singularly  qualified  by 
his  agreeable  conversation  .and  tender  and  deferential  manner 
to  make  his  way  with  women — Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  had  no 


ENDTMION,  187 

great  difficulty,  particularly  in  that  happy  demi-season  which 
precedes  Christmas,  in  establishing  relations  of  confidence  and 
intimacy  with  Lady  Roehampton. 

The  cabinets  were  over;  the  government  had  decided  on 
their  measures  and  put  them  in  a  state  of  preparation,  and  they 
were  about  to  disperse  for  a  month.  The  seat  of  Lord  Roe- 
hampton was  in  the  extreme  north  of  England,  and  a  visit  to 
it  was  inconvenient  at  this  moment,  and  especial'ly  at  this  sea- 
son. The  department  of  Lord  Roehamj^ton  was  very  active  at 
this  time,  and  he  was  unwilling  that  the  first  impression  by  his 
wife  of  her  future  home  should  be  experienced  at  a  season  lit- 
tle favorable  to  the  charms  of  a  northern  seat.  Mr.  Sidney 
Wilton  was  the  proprietor  of  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most 
celebrated  villa  in  England,  only  twenty  miles  from  town, 
seated  on  a  wooded  crest  of  the  swan-crowned  Thames,  with 
gardens  of  delight  and  woods  full  of  pheasants,  and  a  terrace 
that  would  have  become  a  court,  glancing  over  a  wide  expanse 
of  bower  and  glade,  studded  with  bright  halls  and  delicate 
steeples,  and  the  smoke  of  rural  homes. 

It  was  arranged  that  Lord  and  Lady  Roehampton  should 
pass  their  Christmas  at  Gaydene  with  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  stay 
as  long  as  they  liked,  go  where  they  chose,  but  make  it  their 
headquarters.  It  was  a  most  successful  visit,  for  a  great  deal 
of  business  was  done,  as  well  as  pleasure  enjoyed.  The  am- 
bassadors, who  are  always  a  little  uneasy  at  Christmas  when 
everybody  is  away  and  themselves  without  country  homes, 
were  all  invited  down  for  that  week.  Lord  Roehampton  used 
to  give  them  audiences  after  the  shooting  parties.  He  thought 
it  was  a  specific  against  their  being  too  long.  "  He  used  to 
say,  '  The  first  dinner-bell  often  brings  things  to  a  point." 
After  Christmas  there  was  an  ever-varying  stream  of  company, 
chiefly  official  and  parliamentary.  The  banquet  and  the  battue 
did  not  always  settle  the  business,  the  clause,  or  the  schedule, 
which  the  guests  often  came  down  to  Gaydene  ostensibly  to 
accomplish,  iDut  they  sent  men  back  to  town  with  increased 
energy  and  good-humor,  and  kept  the  party  in  heart.  To- 
wards the  end  of  the  month  the  premier  came  down,  and  for 
him  the  Blue  Ribbon  Covert  had  been  reserved,  though  he 
really  cared  little  for  sport.  It  was  an  eighteenth  century  tra- 
dition that  knights  of  the  garter  only  had  been  permitted  to 
shoot  this  choice  preserve,  but  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  in  this  ad- 
vanced age,  did  not,  of  course,  revive  such  an  ultra-exclusive 
practice,  and   he  was  particular  in  arranging  the  party  to  in- 


i88  ENDTMION. 

elude  Mr.  Jorrocks.  This  was  a  Radical  member  to  whom 
considerable  office  had  been  given  at  the  reconstruction  of*  1835, 
when  it  was  necessary  that  the  Whigs  should  conciliate  the 
Mountain.  He  \vas  a  pretentious,  underbred,  half-educated 
man,  fluent  with  all  the  common-places  of  middle-class  ambi- 
tion which  are  humorously  called  democratic  opinions,  but  at 
heart  a  sycophant  of  the  aristocracy.  He  represented,  how- 
ever, a  large  and  important  constituency,  and  his  promotion 
was  at  first  looked  upon  as  a  masterpiece  of  management. 
The  Mountain,  who  knew  Jorrocks  by  heart,  and  felt  that  they 
had  in  their  ranks  men  in  every  sense  his  superior,  and  that  he 
could  be  no  representative  of  their  intelligence  and  opinions, 
and  so  by  degrees  prepare  for  their  gradual  admission  to  the 
sacred  land,  at  first  sulked  over  the  promotion  of  their  late 
companion,  and  only  did  not  publicly  deride  it  from  the  feeling 
that  by  so  doing  they  might  be  playing  the  game  of  the  min- 
istry. At  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing,  having  become 
extremely  discontented  and  wishing  to  annoy  the  government, 
they  even  affected  dissatisfaction  at  the  subordinate  position 
which  Jorrocks  occupied  in  the  administration,  and  it  was  gen- 
erally said — had  become,  indeed,  the  slang  of  the  party — that 
the  test  of  the  sincerity  of  the  ministry  to  Liberal  principles 
was  to  put  Jorrocks  in  the  cabinet.  The  countenance  of  the 
premier  when  this  choice  programme  was  first  communicated 
to  him  was  what  might  have  been  expected  had  he  learned  of 
the  sudden  descent  upon  this  isle  of  an  invading  force,  and  the 
Secretary  of  the  Treasury  whispered  in  confidence  to  one  or 
two  leaders  of  the  Mountain,  "  That  if  the}'^  did  not  take  care, 
they  would  upset  the  government." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  we  want  to  do,"  was  the  reply. 

So  it  will  be  seen  that  the  position  of  the  ministry,  previous 
to  the  meeting  of  Parliament  in  1S39,  was  somewhat  critical. 
In  the  mean  time,  its  various  members,  who  knew  their  man, 
lavished  every  practicable  social  attention  on  Jorrocks.  The 
dinners  they  gave  him  were  doubled ;  they  got  their  women  to 
call  on  his  women;  and  Sidney  Wilton,  a  member  of  an  illus- 
trious garter  family,  capped  the  climax  by  appointing  him  one 
of  the  oartv  to  shoot  the  Blue  Ribbon  Cover. 

Mr.  Wilton  had  invited  Endymion  to  Gaydene,  and  as  his 
stay  there  could  only  be  brief,  had  even  invited  him  to  repeat 
the  visit.  He  was,  indeed,  unaffectedly  kind  to  one  whom  he 
remembered  so  young,  and  was  evidently  pleased  with  him. 

One  evening,  a  day  or  two  before  the  break-up  of  the  party, 


HNDTMION.  189 

while  some  charming  Misses  Playfellow,  with  an  impudent 
brother,  who  all  lived  in  the  neighborhood,  were  acting  cha- 
rades, Mr.  Wilton  said  to  Lady  Roehampton,  by  whose  side 
he  was  sitting  in  the  circle — 

"  I  have  had  a  very  busy  morning  about  my  office.  There 
is  to  be  a  complete  revolution  in  it.  The  whole  system  is  to 
be  reconstructed ;  half  the  present  people  are  to  be  pensioned 
off,  and  new  blood  is  to  be  introduced.  It  struck  me  that  this 
might  be  an  opening  for  your  brother.  He  is  in  the  public 
service — that  is  something ;  and  as  there  are  to  be  so  many 
new  men,  there  will  be  no  jealousy  as  to  his  promotion.  If 
you  will  speak  to  him  about  it,  and  he  likes  it,  I  will  appoint 
him  one  of  the  new  clerks;  and  then,  if  he  also  likes  it,  he 
shall  be  my  private  secretary.  That  will  give  him  position, 
and  be  no  mean  addition  to  his  income,  you  know,  if  we  last — 
but  that  depends,  I  suppose,  on  Mr.  Jorrocks." 

Lady  Roehampton  communicated  all  this  to  her  brother  on 
her  return  to  London.  "  It  is  exactly  what  I  wished,"  she 
said.  "  I  wanted  you  to  be  private  secretary  to  a  cabinet 
minister,  and  if  I  were  to  choose  any  one,  except,  of  course,  my 
lord,  it  would  be  Mr.  Wilton.  He  is  a  perfect  gentleman,  and 
was  dear  papa's  friend.  I  understand  you  will  have  three  hun- 
dred a  year  to  begin  with,  and  the  same  amount  as  his  secretary. 
You  ought  to  be  able  to  live  with  ease  and  propriety  on  six 
hundred  a  year — and.  this  reminds  me  of  what  I  have  been 
thinking  of  before  we  went  to  Gaydene.  I  think  now  you 
ought  to  have  a  more  becoming  residence.  The  Rodneys  are 
good  people,  I  do  not  doubt,  and  I  dare  say  we  shall  have  an 
opportunity  of  proving  our  sense  of  their  services ;  but  they  are 
not  exactly  the  people  that  I  care  fo.r  you  to  live  with,  and,  at 
any  rate,  you  cannot  reside  any  longer  in  a  garret.  I  have 
taken  some  chambers  in  the  Albany,  therefore,  for  you,  and 
they  shall  be  my  contribution  to  your  housekeeping.  They 
are  not  badly  furnished,  but  they  belonged  to  an  old  general 
officer,  and  are  not  very  new-fashioned;  but  we  will  go 
together  and  see  them  to-morrow,  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  soon 
be  able  to  make  them  comme  ilfaui^'' 

CHAPTER  XLVIIL 

This  considerable  rise  in  the  life  of  Endymion,  after  the  first 
excitement  occasioned  by  its  announcement  to  him  had  some- 
what subsided,  was  not  contemplated  by  him  with  unmixed 


I90  END  r MI  ON. 

feelings  of  satisfaction.  It  seemed  to  terminate  many  relations 
of  life,  the  value  of  which  he  had  always  appreciated,  but  which 
now,  with  their  impending  conclusion,  he  felt,  and  felt  keenly, 
had  absolutely  contributed  to  his  happiness.  There  was  no 
great  pang  in  quitting  his  fellow-clerks,  except  Trenchard, 
whom  he  greatly  esteemed.  But  poor  little  Warwick  Street 
had  been  to  him  a  real  home,  if  unvarying  kindness,  and  sedu- 
lous attention,  and  the  affection  of  the  eyes  and  heart,  as  well 
as  of  the  mouth,  can  make  a  hearth.  He  hoped  he  might  pre- 
serve the  friendship  of  Waldershare,  which  their  joint  intimacy 
with  the  prince  would  favor;  but  still  he  could  hardly  flatter 
himself  that  the  delightful  familiarity  of  their  past  lives  could 
subsist.  Endymion  sighed,  and  then  he  sighed  again.  He  felt 
sad.  Because  he  was  leaving  the  humble  harbor  of  refuge, 
the  entrance  to  which,  even  in  the  darkest  hour  of  his  fallen 
fortunes,  was  thought  somewhat  of  an  indignity,  and  was  about 
to  assume  a  position  which  would  not  have  altogether  misbe- 
come the  earliest  expectations  of  his  life?  That  seems  unrea- 
sonable; but  mankind,  fortunately,  are  not  always  governed  by 
reason,  but  by  sentiment,  and  often  by  very  tender  sentiment. 

When  Endymion,  sitting  in  his  little  room,  analyzed  his  feel- 
ings, he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  sadness  was  occasioned 
by  his  having  to  part  from  Imogene.  It  often  requires  an  event 
in  life,  and  an  unexpected  one,  to  make  us  clearly  aware  of  the 
existence  of  feelings  which  have  long  influenced  us.  Never 
having  been  in  a  position  in  which  the  possibility  of  uniting 
his  fate  to  another  could  cross  his  mind  for  a  moment,  he  had 
been  content  with  the  good-fortune  which  permitted  a  large 
portion  of  his  life  to  be  passed  in  the  society  of  a  woman  who, 
unconsciously  both  to  him  and  to  herself,  had  fascinated  him. 
The  graceful  child  who,  four  or  five  years  ago  had  first  lit  him 
to  his  garret,  without  losing  anything  of  her  rare  and  simple 
ingenuousness,  had  developed  into  a  beautiful  and  accomplished 
woman.  There  was  a  strong  resemblance  between  Imogene 
and  her  sister,  but  Imogene  was  a  brunette.  Her  countenance 
indicated  far  more  intellect  and  character  than  that  of  Sylvia. 
Her  brow  was  delicately  penciled  and  finely  arched,  and  her 
large  dark  eyes  gleamed  with  a  softness  and  sweetness  of  ex- 
pression which  were  irresistibly  attractive,  and  seemed  to 
indicate  sympathy  with  everything  that  was  good  and  beautiful. 
Her  features  were  not  so  regular  as  her  sister's;  but  when  she 
smiled,  her  face  was  captivating. 

Endymion  had  often  listened,  half  with  fondness  and  half 


ENDTMION.  191 

with  scepticism,  to  Waldershare  dilating,  according  to  his 
wont,  on  the  high  character  and  qualities  of  Imogene,  whom 
he  persisted  in  helieving  he  was  preparing  for  a  great  career. 
"How  it  will  come  about  I  cannot  say,"  he  would  remark; 
"  but  it  will  come.  If  my  legitimate  sovereign  were  on  the 
throne,  and  I  in  the  possession  of  my  estates,  which  were  gra- 
ciously presented  by  the  usurper  to  the  sausage-makers,  or 
some  other  choice  middle-class  corporation,  I  would  marry  her 
myself.  But  that  is  impossible.  That  would  only  be  asking 
her  to  share  my  ruin.  I  want  her  to  live  in  palaces,  and  per- 
haps, in  my  decline  of  life,  make  me  her  librarian,  like  Cas- 
anova. I  should  be  content  to  dine  in  her  hall  every  day  be- 
neath the  salt,  and  see  her  enter  with  her  state,  amid  the 
flourish  of  trumpets."  And  now,  strange  to  say,  Endymion 
was  speculating  on  the  fate  of  Imogene,  and,  as  he  thought,  in 
a  more  practical  spirit.  Six  hundred  a  year,  he  thought,  was 
not  a  very  large  income;  but  it  was  an  income,  and  one  which 
a  year  ago  he  never  contemplated  possessing  until  getting  gray 
in  the  public  service.  Why  not  realize  perfect  happiness  at 
once  ?  He  could  conceive  no  bliss  greater  than  living  with  Im- 
ogene in  one  of  those  little  villas,  even  if  semi-detached,  which 
now  are  numbered  by  tens  of  thousands,  and  which  were  then 
beginning  to  shoot  out  their  suburban  antennae  in  every  direc- 
tion of  our  huge  metropolis.  He  saw  her  in  his  mind's  eye  in 
a  garden  of  perpetual  sunshine,  breathing  of  mignonette  and 
bright  with  roses,  and  waiting  for  him  as  he  came  down  from 
town  and  his  daily  labors,  in  the  cheap  and  convenient  omni- 
bus. What  a  delightful  companion  to  welcome  him!  How 
much  to  tell  her,  and  how  much  to  listen  to!  And  then  their 
evenings  with  a  delicious  book  or  some  delightful  music! 
What  holidays,  too,  of  romantic  adventure!  The  vine-clad 
Rhine,  perhaps  Switzerland;  at  any  rate,  the  quaint  old  cities 
of  Flanders,  and  the  winding  valley  of  the  Meuse.  They 
could  live  extremely  well  on  six  hundred  a  year;  yes,  with  all 
the  real  refinements  of  existence.  And  all  this  genuine  happi- 
ness was  to  be  sacrificed  for  utterly  fantastic  and  imaginary 
gratifications,  which,  if  analyzed,  would  be  found  only  to  be 
efforts  to  amuse  and  astonish  others. 

It  did  not  yet  occur  to  Endymion  that  his  garden  could  not 
always  be  sunshiny;  that  cares  crop  up  in  villas,  even  semi- 
detached, as  well  as  joys;  that  he  would  have  children,  and 
perhaps  too  many;  that  they  would  be  sick,  and  that  doctors' 
bills  would  soon  put  a  stop  to  romantic  excursions;  that  his  wife 


192  ENDTMION, 

would  become  exhausted  with  nursing  and  clothing  and  teach- 
ing them;  that  she  herself  would  become  an  invalid,  and  moped 
to  death ;  that  his  resources  would  every  day  bear  a  less  pro- 
portion to  his  expenditure;  and  that,  wanting  money,  he  would 
return  too  often  from  town  a  harassed  husband  to  a  jaded  wife! 

Mr.  Rodney  and  Sylvia  were  at  Conington  on  a  visit  to 
Lord  Beaumaris,  hunting.  It  was  astonishing  how  Sylvia  had 
ridden  to  the  hounds,  mounted  on  the  choicest  steeds,  and  in  a 
scarlet  habit  which  had  been  presented  to  her  by  Mr.  Vigo. 
She  had  created  quite  an  enthusiasm  in  the  field,  and  Lord 
Beaumaris  was  proud  of  his  guests.  When  Endymion  parted 
with  his  sister  at  the  Albany,  where  they  had  been  examining 
his  rooms,  he  had  repaired  to  Warwick  Street,  with  some 
expectation  that  the  Rodneys  would  have  returned  from  Con- 
ington, and  he  intended  to  break  to  his  host  the  impending 
change  in  his  life.  The  Rodneys,  however,  had  not  arrived, 
and  so  he  ascended  to  his  room,  where  he  had  been  employed 
in  arranging  his  books  and  papers,  and  in  indulging  in  the 
reverie  which  we  have  indicated.  When  he  came  down  stairs, 
wishing  to  inquire  about  the  probable  arrival  of  his  landlord, 
Endymion  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  parlor  where  they  used 
to  assemble,  and  on  entering,  found  Imogene  writing. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Ferrars?"  she  said,  rising.  "I  am 
writing  to  Sylvia.  They  are  not  returning  as  soon  as  they  in- 
tended, and  I  am  to  go  down  to  Conington  by  an  early  train 
to-morrow." 

"  1  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Rodney,"  said  Endymion  moodily. 

"Can  I  write  anything  to  him,  or  tell  him  anything?"  said 
Imogene. 

"  No,"  continued  Endymion,  in  a  melancholy  tone.  "  I  can 
tell  you  what  I  wanted  to  say.  But  you  must  be  occupied 
now,  going  away,  and  unexpectedly,  to-morrow.  It  seems  to 
me  that  every  one  is  going  away. 

"  Well,  we  have  lost  the  prince,  certainly,"  said  Imogene, 
"  and  I  doubt  whether  his  rooms  will  be  ever  let  again." 

"Indeed!"  said  Endymion. 

"  Well,  I  only  know  what  Mr.  Waldershare  tells  me.  He 
says  that  Mr.  Rodney  and  Mr.  Vigo  have  made  a  great  specu- 
lation, and  gained  a  great  deal  of  money;  but  Mr.  Rodney 
never  speaks  to  me  of  such  matters,  nor  indeed  does  Sylvia.  I 
am  myself  very  sorry  that  the  prince  has  gone,  for  he  interested 
me  much," 


ENDTMTOK  193 

**  Well,  I  should  think  Mr.  Rodney  would  not*  be  very  sorry 
to  get  rid  of  me  then,"  said  Endymion. 

'-'-  Oh!  Mr.  Ferrars,  why  should  you  say  or  think  such  things? 
I  am  sure  that  my  brother  and  sister,  and  indeed  every  one  in 
this  house,  always  considered  your  comfort  and  welfare  before 
any  other  object." 

"  Yes,  said  Endymion,  "  you  have  all  been  most  kind  to  me, 
and  that  makes  me  more  wretched  at  the  prospect  of  leaving 
you." 

"  But  there  is  no  prospect  of  that? " 

"  A  certainty,  Imogene;  there  is  going  to  be  a  change  in  my 
life,"  and  then  he  told  her  all. 

"  Well,"  said  Imogene,  "  it  would  be  selfish  not  to  be  happy 
at  what  I  hear;  but  though  I  hope  I  am  happy,  I  need  not  be 
joyful.  I  never  used  to  be  nervous,  but  I  am  afraid  I  am  get- 
ting so.  All  these  great  changes  rather  shake  me.  This 
adventure  of  the  prince — as  Mr.  Waldershare  says,  it  is  history. 
Then  Miss  Myra's  great  marriage,  and  your  promotion — 
althougii  they  are  exactly  what  we  used  to  dream  about,  and 
wished  a  fairy  would  accomplish,  and  somehow  felt  that,  some- 
how or  other,  they  must  happen — yet  now  they  have  occurred, 
one  is  almost  as  astounded  as  delighted.  We  certainly  have 
been  very  happy  in  Warwick  Street,  at  least  I  have  been,  all 
living  as  it  were  together.  But  where  shall  we  be  this  time 
next  year?  All  scattered,  and  perhaps  not  even  the  Rodneys 
under  this  roof.  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  dread  leaving  the 
roof  where  one  has  been  happy." 

"  Oh !  you  know  you  must  leave  it  one  day  or  other,  Imogene. 
You  are  sure  to  marry ;  that  you  cannot  avoid." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  by  any  means  sure  about  that,"  said  Imo- 
gene. "  Mr.  Waldershare,  in  educating  me,  as  he  says,  as  a 
princess,  has  made  me  really  neither  fish,  flesh,  nor  fowl,  nor 
even  that  coarser  but  popular  delicacy  never  forgotten.  I  could 
not  unite  my  life  with  a  being  who  was  not  refined  in  mind 
and  in  manners,  and  the  men  of  my  class  in  life,  who  are  the 
only  ones  after  all  who  might  care  to  marry  me,  shock  my 
taste.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  so.  I  am  not  sure  it  is  not  wicked 
to  think  it  even ;  but  so  it  is  " 

"Why  do  you  not  marry  Waldershare?"  said  Endymion. 

"  That  would  be  madness!  I  do  not  know  any  alliance  that 
could  prove  more  unfortunate;  Mr.  Waldershare  must  never 
marry.     All  people  of  imagination,  they  say,  are  difficult  to 


191-  ENDTMION. 

live  with;  but  e  person  who  consists  solely  of  imagination,  like 
Mr.  Waldershare,  who  has  indeed  no  other  attribute — before  a 
year  was  past,  married,  he  would  fly  to  the  desert,  or  to  La 
Trappe,  commit  terrible  scandals  from  mere  weariness  of  feel- 
ing, write  pasquinades  against  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  and  hold 
us  both  up  to  the  fierce  laughter  of  the  world.  No,  no;  he  is 
the  best,  the  dearest,  and  the  most  romantic  of  friends ;  tender  as  a 
father,  and  sometimes  as  wise,  for  genius  can  be  everything. 
He  is  going  to  rise  early  to-morrow,  which  he  particularly  dis- 
likes, because  he  will  not  let  me  go  to  the  station  alone ;  though 
I  tell  him,  as  I  often  tell  him,  those  are  the  becoming  manners 
of  my  class." 

"But  you  might  meet  a  person  of  the  refinement  you  re- 
quire," said  Endymion,  "  with  a  moderate  and  yet  a  suflfiicient 
income,  who  would  not  be  unworthy  of  you." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Imogene. 

"But,  do  not  doubt  it,  dear  Imogene,"  said  Endymion,  ad- 
vancing, "  such  charms  as  yours,  both  of  body  and  of  mind, 
such  a  companion  in  life,  so  refined,  so  accomplished,  and  yet 
endowed  with  such  clear  sense,  and  such  a  sweet  disposition — 
believe  me — !" 

But  at  this  moment  a  splendid  equipage  drove  up  to  the 
door,  with  powdered  footman  and  long  canes  behind,  and  then 
a  terrible  rap,  like  the  tattoo  of  a  field-marshal. 

"Good  gracious!  what  is  all  this?"  exclaimed  Imogene. 

"  It  is  my  sister,"  said  Endymion,  blushing.  "  It  is  Lady 
Roehampton." 

"  I  must  go  to  her  myself,"  said  Imogene,  "  I  cannot  have 
the  servant  attend  upon  your  sister." 

Endymion  remained  silent  and  confused.  Imogene  was 
some  little  time  at  the  carriage-door,  for  Lady  Roehampton 
had  inquiries  to  make  after  Sylvia,  and  other  courteous  things 
to  say,  and  then  Imogene  returned,  and  said  to  Endymion, 
"  Lady  Roehampton  wishes  you  to  go  with  her  directly  on 
some  particular  business." 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

Endymion  liked  his  new  oflficial  life  very  much.  White- 
hall was  a  great  improvement  on  Somerset  House,  and  he  had 
suflicient  experience  of  the  civil  service  to  duly  appreciate  the 
advantage  of  being  permanently  quartered  in  one  of  the  chief 
departments  of  the   state,  instead  of  obscurely  laboring^  in  a 


ENDTMTON.  195 

subordinate  office,  with  a  limited  future,  and  detached  from  all 
the  keenly  interesting  details  of  public  life.  But  it  was  not  so 
much  this  permanent  and  substantial  advantage  which  occas- 
ioned him  such  lively  and  such  novel  pleasure  as  the  fact  of  his 
being  a  private  secretary,  and  a  private  secretary  to  a  cabinet 
minister. 

The  relations  between  a  minister  and  his  secretary  are,  or  at 
least  should  be,  among  the  finest  that  can  subsist  between  two 
individuals.  Except  the  married  state,  there  is  none  in  which 
so  great  a  degree  of  confidence  is  involved,  in  which  more  for- 
bearance ought  to  be  exercised,  or  more  sympathy  ought  to 
exist.  There  is  usually  in  the  relation  an  identity  of  interest, 
and  that  of  the  highest  kind ;  and  the  perpetual  difficulties,  the 
alternations  of  triumph  and  defeat,  develop  devotion.  A  youth- 
ful secretary  will  naturally  feel  some  degree  of  enthusiasm  for 
his  chief,  and  a  wise  minister  will  never  stint  his  regard  for  one 
in  whose  intelligence  and  honor  he  finds  he  can  place  confidence. 

There  never  was  a  happier  prospect  of  these  relations  being 
established  on  the  most  satisfactory  basis  than  in  the  instance  of 
Endymion  and  his  new  master.  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  was  a 
man  of  noble  disposition,  fine  manners,  considerable  culture, 
and  was  generally  gracious.  But  he  was  disposed  to  be  more 
than  gracious  to  Endymion,  and  when  he  found  that  our  young 
friend  had  a  capacity  for  work — that  his  perception  was  quick 
and  clear — that  he  wrote  with  facility — never  made  difficulties 
— was  calm,  sedulous,  and  patient,  the  interest  which  Mr.  Wil- 
ton took  in  him  as  the  son  of  William  Ferrars,  and,  we  must 
add,  as  the  brother  of  Lady  Roehampton,  became  absorbed  in 
the  personal  regard  which  the  minister  soon  entertained  for 
his  secretary.  Mr.  Wilton  found  a  pleasure  in  forming  the 
mind  of  Endymion  to  the  consideration  and  comprehension  of 
public  affairs;  he  spoke  to  him  both  of  men  and  things  without 
reserve;  revealed  to  him  the  characters  of  leading  personages 
on  both  sides;  illustrated  their  antecedents,  and  threw  light 
upon  their  future;  taught  him  the  real  condition  of  parties  in 
Parliament,  rarely  to  be  found  in  newspapers;  and  finally, 
when  he  was  sufficiently  initiated,  obtained  for  his  secretary  a 
key  for  his  cabinet  boxes,  which  left  little  of  the  business  of 
government  unknown  to  Endymion. 

Such  great  confidence,  and  that  exhibited  by  one  who  pos- 
sessed so  many  winning  qualities,  excited  in  the  breast  of  En- 
dymion the  most  lively  feelings  of  gratitude  and  regard.  He 
tried  to  prove  them  by  the  vigilant  and  unwearying  labor  with 


19(5  ENDTMtON. 

which  he  served  his  master,  and  he  served  him  every  day  more 
effectually,  because  every  day  he  became  more  intrmate  with 
the  mind  and  method  of  Mr.  Wilton.  Every  one  to  a  certain 
degree  is  a  mannerist;  every  one  has  his  ways;  and  a  secretary 
will  be  assi&ted  in  the  transaction  of  business  if  a  vigilant  ob- 
servation has  made  him  acquainted  with  the  idiosyncrasy  of  his 
chief. 

The  regulations  of  the  office  which  authorize  a  clerk,  ap- 
pointed  to  a  private  secretaryship,  to  deviate  from  the  routine 
duties  of  the  department,  and  devote  his  time  entirely  to  the 
special  requirements  of  his  master,  of  course  much  assisted  En- 
dymion,  and  was  also  a  pleasant  relief,  for  he  had  had  enough 
at  Somerset  House  of  copying  documents  and  drawing  up 
formal  reports.  But  it  was  not  only  at  Whitehall  that  he  saw 
Mr.  Wilton,  and  experienced  his  kindness.  Endymion  was  a 
frequent  guest  under  Mr.  Wilton's  roof,  and  Mr.  Wilton's 
establishment  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  in  London. 
They  met  also  much  in  the  evenings,  and  always  at  Lady  Roe- 
hampton's  where  Mr.  Wilton  was  never  absent.  Whenever 
and  wherever  they  met,  even  if  they  had  been  working  to- 
gether the  whole  morning,  Mr.  Wilton  always  greeted  Endy- 
mion with  the  utmost  consideration — because  he  knew  such  a 
recognition  would  raise  Endymion  in  the  eyes  of  the  social 
herd,  who  always  observe  little  things,  and  generally  form 
from  them  their  opinions  of  great  affairs. 


CHAPTER  L. 

Mr.  Wilton  was  at  Charing  Cross,  on  his  way  to  his  office, 
when  a  lady  saluted  him  from  her  carriage,  which  then  drew 
up  to  the  pavement  and  stopped. 

"  We  have  just  arrived,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "  and  I  want 
you  to  give  me  a  little  dinner  to-day.  My  lord  is  going  to  dine 
with  an  Old  Bailey  lawyer,  who  amuses  him,  and  I  do  not  like 
to  be  left,  the  first  day,  on  the  pave^ 

"  I  can  give  you  a  rather  large  dinner,  if  you  care  to  come," 
said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  but  I  fear  you  will  not  like  it.  1  have  got 
some  House  of  Commons  men  dining  with  me  to-day,  and  one 
or  two  of  the  other  House  to  meet  them.  My  sister  Georgina 
has  very  good-naturedly  promised  to  come,  with  her  husband, 
and  I  have  just  written  a  note  to  the  Duchess  Dowager  of 
Keswick,  who  often  helps  me — but  I  fear  this  sort  of  thing 
would  hardly  suit  you." 


END  r MI  ON.  197 

*'  On  the  contrary,  I  think  it  will  be  very  amusing.  Only 
do  not  put  me  between  two  of  your  colleagues.  Anybody 
amuses  me  for  once.  A  new  acquaintance  is  like  a  new  book. 
I  prefer  it,  even  if  bad,  to  a  classic." 

"  The  dinnerparty  to  day  at  Mr.  Wilton's  was  miscellane- 
ous, and  not  heterogeneous  enough  to  produce  constraint,  only 
to  produce  a  little  excitement — some  commoners  high  in 
office,  and  the  Treasury  whip,  several  manufacturers  who 
stood  together  in  the  room,  and  some  metropolitan  members. 
Georgina's  husband,  who  was  a  lord  in  waiting,  and  a  great 
swell,  in  a  green  ribbon,  moved  about  with  adroit  condescen- 
sion, and  was  bewitchingly  affable.  The  manufacturing 
members  whispered  to  each  other  that  it  was  a  wise  thing  to 
bring  the  two  Houses  together,  but  when  her  Grace  the  Duch- 
ess Dowager  of  Keswick  was  announced,  they  exchanged 
glances  of  astounded  satisfaction,  and  felt  that  the  government, 
which  had  been  thought  to  be  in  a  somewhat  rickety  condi- 
tion, would  certainly  stand. 

Berengaria  came  a  little  late,  not  very.  She  thought  it  had 
been  earlier,  but  it  was  not.  The  duchess  dowager  opened 
her  eyes  with  wonderment  when  she  beheld  Lady  Montfort, 
but  the  company  in  general  were  not  in  the  least  aware  of  the 
vast  social  event  that  was  occurring.  They  were  gratified  in 
seeing  another  fine  lady,  but  did  not,  of  course,  rank  her  with 
a  duchess. 

The  dinner  went  off  better  than  Mr.  Wilton  could  have 
hoped,  as  it  was  impossible  to  place  a  stranger  by  Lady  Mont- 
fort. He  sat  in  the  middle  of  his  table  with  the  duchess 
dowager  on  his  right  and  Berengaria,  who  was  taken  out  by 
the  green  ribbon,  on  the  left.  As  he  knew  the  green  ribbon 
would  be  soon  exhausted,  he  devoted  himself  to  Lady  Mont- 
fort, and  left  the  duchess  to  her  own  resources,  ^hich  were 
considerable,  and  she  was  soon  laying  down  her  opinions  on 
men  and  things  to  her  other  neighbors  with  much  effect.  The 
manufacturers  talked  shop  to  each  other  in  whispers,  that  is  to 
say,  mixed  House  of  Commons  tattle  about  bills  and  com- 
mittees with  news  from  Manchester  and  Liverpool,  and  the 
West  Riding.  The  Metropolitan  members,  then  a  more  cos- 
mopolitan body,  and  highly  miscellaneous  in  their  chaiacter 
and  pursuits,  were  louder  and  perhaps  more  easy,  and  even 
ventured  to  talk  across  the  table  when  near  its  end,  and  enticed 
the  peers  into  discussions  on  foreign  politics. 

^r.  Sidney  Wilton  having  been  delightful,  thought  it  neces-» 


198  ENDTMIOJSr. 

sary  to  observe  that  he  feared  Lady  Montfort  had  been  bored. 

"I  have  been,  and  am,  extremely  amused,"  she  replied, 
"  and  now  tell  me,  w^ho  is  that  young  man  at  the  very  end  of 
the  table?" 

"  That  is  my  private  secretary,  Mr.  Ferrars." 

"Ferrars!" 

"  A  brother  of  Lady  Roehampton." 

"  Present  him  to  me  after  dinner." 

Endymion  knew  Lady  Montfort  by  sight,  though  she  did 
not  know  him.  He  had  seen  her  more  than  once  at  the  recep- 
tions of  Mrs.  Neuchatel,  where,  as  indeed  in  every  place,  she 
was  the  cynosure.  He  was  much  astonished  at  meeting  her 
at  this  party  to-day — almost  as  surprised  as  the  duchess 
dowager,  for  Endymion,  who  was  an  observant  nature,  was 
beginning  to  comprehend  society  and  all  its  numerous  elements 
and  schools  and  shades  and  classes.  When  they  entered  the 
saloon,  Mr.  Wilton  led  Endymion  up  to  Lady  Montfort  at 
once,  and  she  immediately  inquired  after  his  sister.  "  Do  you 
think,"  she  said,  "  Lady  Roehampton  would  see  me  to  morrow 
if  I  called  on  her?  " 

"  If  I  were  Lady  Roehampton,  I  would,"  said  Endymion. 

Lady  Montfort  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  of  curious  scru- 
tiny; not  smiling,  and  yet  not  displeased.  "I  will  write  her  a 
little  note  in  the  morning,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  thoughtfully. 
"  One  may  leave  cards  forever.  Mr.  Wilton  tells  me  you  are 
quite  his  right  hand." 

"  Mr.  Wilton  is  too  kind  to  me,"  said  Endymion.  "  One 
could  not  be  excused  for  not  doing  one's  best  for  such  a  master." 

'^  You  like  people  to  be  kind  to  you  ? "  said  Lady  Montfort. 

"  Well,  I  have  not  met  with  so  much  kindness  in  this  world 
as  to  become  insensible  to  it." 

"  You  are  too  young  to  be  melancholy,"  said  Lady  Mont- 
fort; "are  you  older  than  Lady  Roehampton?" 

"  We  are  twins." 

"  Twins!  and  wonderfully  like,  too!     Is  it  not  thought  so  .?" 

"  I  have  sometimes  heard  it  mentioned." 

"Oh,  it  is  striking!"  said  Lady  Montfort,  and  she  motioned 
him  to  sit  down  by  her;  and  then  she  began  to  talk  politics, 
and  asked  him  what  the  members  thought  at  dinner  of  the 
prospects  of  the  government,  and  what  he  had  heard  of  the 
malcontent  movement  that  they  said  was  in  petto.  Endymion 
replied  that  Mr.  Sharpset,  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  did 
not  think  much  of  it. 


ENDTMION.  199 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  did  not,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "  However, 
I  will  soon  find  out  something  about  it.  I  have  only  just  come 
to  town;  but  I  intend  to  open  my  house  immediately.  Now  I 
must  go.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  to-morrow? 
I  wish  you  would  come  and  dine  with  Lord  Montfort.  It  will 
be  quite  without  form,  a  few  agreeable  and  amusing  people; 
Lord  Montfort  must  be  amused.  It  seems  a  reasonable  fancy, 
but  very  difficult  to  realize;  andnow  you  shall  ask  for  my  car- 
riage, and  to-morrow  I  hope  to  be  able  to  tell  Lady  Roehamp- 
ton  what  very  great  pleasure  I  have  had  in  making  the  ac- 
quaintance of  her  brother." 


CHAPTER  LL 

The  morning  after  Endymion  was  emerging  from  the 
court-yard  of  the  Albany,  in  order  to  call  on  Mr.  Rodney,  who, 
as  he  learned  from  a  casual  remark  in  a  letter  from  Walder- 
share,  would  be  in  town.  The  ladies  were  left  behind  for  the 
last  week  of  hunting,  but  business  called  Mr.  Rodney  home. 
Waldershare  wrote  to  Endymion  in  the  highest  spirits,  and 
more  than  once  declared  that  he  was  the  happiest  of  men. 
Just  as  Endymion  had  entered  Piccadilly,  he  was  stopped  by  a 
once  familiar  face;  it  was  St.  Barbe,  who  accosted  him  with 
great  warmth,  and  as  usual  began  to  talk  about  himself.  "  You 
are  surprised  to  see  me,"  he  said.  '*  It  is  two  years  since  we 
met.  Well,  I  have  done  wonders;  carried  all  before  me.  By 
Jove,  sir,  I  can  walk  into  a  minister's  private  room  with  as 
much  ease  as  if  I  were  entering  the  old  den.  The  ambassadors 
are  hand  and  glove  with  me.  There  are  very  few  things  I  do 
not  know.  I  have  made  the  fortune  of  the  Chuck-Farthings 
trebled  its  circulation,  and  invented  a  new  style,  which  has  put 
me  at  the  head  of  all  '  our  own  correspondents.'  I  wish  you 
were  at  Paris.  I  would  give  you  a  dinner  at  the  Rocher 
which  would  make  up  for  all  our  dinners  at  that  ferocious  ruf- 
fian Joe's.  I  gave  a  dinner  the  other  day  to  forty  of  them,  all 
'our  own  correspondents,'  or  such  like.  Do  you  know,  my 
dear  fellow,  when  I  looked  round  the  room  there  was  not  a 
man  who  had  not  done  his  best  to  crush  me ;  running  down 
my  works  or  not  noticing  them,  or  continually  dilating  on 
Gushy,  as  if  the  English  public  would  never  read  anything 
else.  Now,  that  was  Christianlike  of  me,  was  it  not?  God, 
sir,  if  they  only  had  but  one  neck,  and  I  had  been  the  Emperor 


2O0  END  r MI  ON. 

Nero — but  I  will  not  dwell  on  it.  I  hate  them.  However,  it 
suits  me  to  take  the  other  line  at  present.  1  am  all  for  fraternity 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  give  them  dinners.  There  is  a 
reason  why,  but  there  is  no  time  to  talk  about  that  now.  I 
shall  want  their  sweet  voices — the  hounds!  But,  my  dear 
fellow,  I  am  truly  glad  to  see  you.  Do  you  know,  I  always 
liked  you;  and  how  come  you  to  be  in  this  quarter  this  fine 
morning?" 

"  I  live  in  the  Albany,"  said  Endymion. 

"  You  live  in  the  Albany !"  repeated  St.  Barbe,  with  an  amaz- 
ed and  perturbed  expression.  "  I  knew  I  could  not  be  a  knight 
of  the  garter,  or  a  member  of  White's — the  only  two  things  an 
Englishman  cannot  command;  but  I  did  think  I  might  some 
day  live  in  the  Albany.  It  was  my  dream.  And  you  live 
there !  Gracious !  What  an  unfortunate  fellow  I  am.  I  do  not 
see  how  you  can  live  in  the  Albany  on  your  salary.  I  suppose 
they  have  raised  you." 

"  I  have  left  Somerset  House,"  said  Endymion,  "  and  am 
now  at  the  Board  of  Trade,  and  am  private  secretary  to  Mr. 
Sidney  Wilton." 

"Oh!"  said  St.  Barbe,  "then  we  have  friends  at  court. 
You  may  do  something  for  me,  if  I  only  knew  what  I  wanted. 
They  have  no  decorations  here.  Curse  this  aristocratic  coun- 
try, they  want  all  the  honors  to  themselves.  1  should  like  to 
be  in  the  Board  of  Trade,  and  would  make  some  sacrifice  for 
it.  The  proprietors  of  the  Chuck  Farthing  pay  well ;  they 
pay  like  gentlemen;  though  why  I  say  so  I  do  not  exactly 
know,  for  no  gentleman  ever  paid  me  anything.  But  if  I 
could  be  Secretary  of  the  Board  of  Trade,  or  get  .£1500  a 
year  secure,  I  would  take  it;  and  I  dare  say  I  could  get  em- 
ployed on  some  treaties,  as  I  speak  French,  and  then  I  might 
get  knighted." 

"Well,  I  think  you  are  very  well  off,"  said  Endymion; 
"  carrying,  as  you  say,  everything  before  you.  What  more 
can  you  want? " 

"  I  hate  the  craft,"  said  St.  Barbe,  with  an  expression  of 
genuine  detestation.  "  I  should  like  to  show  them  all  up  before 
I  died.  I  suppose  it  was  your  sister  marrying  a  lord  that  got 
you  on  in  this  way.  I  could  have  married  a  countess  myself, 
but  then,  to  be  sure,  she  was  only  a  Polish  one,  and  hard  up. 
I  never  had  a  sister.  I  never  had  any  luck  in  life  at  all.  I 
wish  I  had  been  a  woman.  Women  are  the  only  people  who 
get  on.     A  man  works  all  his  life,  and  thinks  he  has  done  a 


END  r MI  ON.  20I 

wonderful  tiling  if,  with  one  leg  in  the  grave  and  no  hair  on 
his  head,  he  manages  to  get  a  coronet;  and  a  woman  dances  at 
a  ball  with  some  young  fellow  or  other,  or  sits  next  to  some  old 
fellow  at  dinner  and  pretends  she  thinks  him  charming,  and  he 
makes  her  a  peeress  on  thejspot.  Oh!  it  is  a  disgusting  world; 
it  must  end  in  revolution.  Now,  tell  your  master,  Mr.  Sidney 
Wilton,  that  if  he  wants  to  strengthen  the  institutions  of  this 
country,  the  government  should  establish  an  order  of  merit, 
and  the  press  ought  to  be  represented  in  it.  I  do  not  speak 
only  for  myself.  I  speak  for  my  brethren.  Yes,  sir,  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  my  order." 

And  so  they  bade  each  other  farewell. 

"  Unchanged,"  thought  Endymion,  as  he  crossed  Piccadilly, 
"the  vainest,  the  most  envious,  and  the  most  amusing  of  men! 
I  wonder  what  he  will  do  in  life." 

Mr.  Rodney  was  at  home,  had  just  finished  his  breakfast, 
read  his  newspaper,  and  was  about  to  "  go  into  the  City."  His 
costume  was  perfect.  Mr.  Rodney's  hat  seemed  always  a  new 
one.  Endymion  was  a  little  embarrassed  by  this  interview, 
for  he  had  naturally  a  kind  heart,  and  being  young,  it  was  still 
soft.  The  Rodneys  had  been  truly  good  to  him,  and  he  was 
attached  to  them.  Imogene  had  prepared  Mr.  Rodney  for  the 
change  in  Endymion's  life,  and  Endymion  himself  had  every 
reason  to  believe  that  in  a  worldly  point  of  view  the  matter 
was  entirely  insignificant  to  his  old  landlord.  Still,  his  visit 
this  morning  ratified  a  permanent  separation  from  those  with 
whom  he  had  lived  for  a  long  time,  and  under  <^'Tcumstances 
of  sympathy  and  family  connection  which  were  touching.  He 
retained  Mr.  Rodney's  hand  for  a  moment  as  he  expressed, 
and  almost  in  faltering  tones,  his  sorrow  at  their  separation  and 
his  hope  that  their  friendly  connection  might  be  always  cher- 
ished. 

"  That  feeling  is  reciprocal,"  said  Mr.  Rodney.  "  If  only 
because  you  were  the  son  of  my  revered  and  right  honorable 
friend,  you  would  always  be  ev«^eemed  here.  But  you  are  es- 
teemed, or,  I  may  say  beloved,  for  your  own  sake.  We  shall 
be  proud  to  be  considered  with  kindness  by  you,  and  I  echo 
your  wish  that,  though  no  longer  living  under  the  same  roof, 
we  may  yet,  and  even  often,  meet.  But  do  not  say  another 
word  about  the  inconvenience  you  are  occasioning  us.  The 
truth  is,  that  although  wherever  we  went  the  son  of  my  re- 
vered and  right  honorable  friend  would  have  always  com- 
manded hospitality  from  us^  there  are  maay_f:lian^s  about  tO 


202  ENDTMION. 

take  place  In  our  family  which  have  made  us  for  some  time 
contemplate  leaving  Warwick  Street.  Affairs,  especially  of 
late,  have  gone  prett}'  well  with  me  in  the  world — at  least  not 
badly.  I  have  had  friends,  and  I  hope  have  proved  not  unde- 
serving of  them.  I  wish  Sylvia,  too,  to  live  in  an  airier  situa- 
tion, near  the  Park,  so  that  she  may  ride  every  morning. 
Besides,  I  have  a  piece  of  news  to  communicate  to  you, 
which  would  materially  affect  our  arrangements.  We  are 
goino^  to  lose  Imoo^ene." 

"  Ah!  she  is  going  to  be  married,"  said  Endymion, blushing, 

"  She  is  going  to  be  married,"  said  Mr.  Rodney,  gravely. 

"  To  Mr.  Waldershare  ? "  said  Endymion.  "  He  almost  said 
as  much  to  me  in  a  letter  this  morning.  But  Ij^always 
thought  so." 

"  No;  not  to  Mr.  Waldershare,"  said  Mr.  Rodney. 

"  Who  is  the  happy  man,  then,"  said  Endymion,  agitated. 
"  I  truly  call  him  so ;  for  I  think  myself  that  Imogene  is  per- 
fection." 

"  Imogene  is  about  to  be  married  to  the  Earl  of  Beaumaris." 

CHAPTER  LH. 

Simon,  Earl  of  Montfort,  with  whom  Endymion  was  so  un- 
expectedly going  to  dine,  may  be  said  to  have  been  a  minor 
in  his  cradle.  Under  ordinary  circumstances,  his  inheritance 
would  have  been  one  of  the  most  consideralDle  in  England. 
His  castle  in  the  north  was  one  of  the  glories  of  the  land,  and 
becomingly  crowned  his  vast  domain.  Under  the  old  parlia- 
mentary system,  he  had  the  greatest  number  of  nomination 
boroughs  possessed  by  any  Whig  noble.  The  character  and 
conduct  of  an  individual  so  qualified  were  naturally  much 
speculated  on  and  finely  scanned.  Nothing  very  decided  trans- 
pired about  them  in  his  boyhood,  but  certainly  nothing  ad- 
verse. He  was  good-looking  and  athletic,  and  was  said  to  be 
generous  and  good-natured,  and  when  he  went  to  Harrow,  he 
became  popular.  In  his  eighteenth  year,  while  he  was  in  cor- 
respondence with  his  guardians  about  going  to  Christ  Church, 
he  suddenly  left  his  country  without  giving  any  one  notice  of  his 
intentions,  and  entered  into,  and  fulfilled,  a  vast  scheme  of  ad- 
venturous travel.  He  visited  countries  then  rarely  reached, 
and  some  of  which  were  almost  unknown.  His  flag  had  floated 
in  the  Indian  Ocean,  and  he  had  penetrated  the  dazzling  mys- 
teries of  Brazilian  forests.     When  he  was  of  age,  he  returned, 


ENDTMION.  203 

and  communicated  with  his  guardians,  as  if  nothing  remarkable 
had  happened  in  his  life.  Lord  Montfort  had  inherited  a  cele- 
brated stud,  which  the  family  had  maintained  for  more  than  a 
century,  and  the  sporting  world  remarked  with  satisfaction 
that  their  present  representative  appeared  to  take  much  interest 
in  it.  He  had  an  establishment  at  Newmarket,  and  his  horses 
were  entered  for  all  the  great  races  of  the  kingdom.  He  ap- 
peared also  at  Melton,  and  conducted  the  campaign  in  a  style 
becoming  such  a  hero.  His  hunters  and  his  cooks  were  both 
first-rate.  Although  he  affected  to  take  little  interest  in  poli- 
tics, the  events  of  the  time  forced  him  to  consider  them  and  to 
act.  Lord  Grey  wanted  to  carry  his  Reform  Bill,  and  the 
sacrifice  of  Lord  Montfort's  numerous  boroughs  was  a  neces- 
sary ingredient  in  the  spell.  He  was  appealed  to  as  the  head 
of  one  of  the  greatest  Whig  houses,  and  he  was  offered  a  duke- 
dom. He  relinquished  his  boroughs  without  hesitation,  but  he 
preferred  to  remain  with  one  of  the  oldest  earldoms  of  Eng- 
land for  his  chief  title.  All  honors,  however,  clustered  about 
him,  though  he  never  sought  them,  and  in  the  same  year  he 
tumbled  into  the  lord-lieutenancy  of  his  county,  luiexpectedly 
vacant,  and  became  the  youngest  knight  of  the  garter. 

Society  was  looking  forward  with  the  keenest  interest  to  the 
impending  season,  when  Lord  Montfort  would  formally  enter 
its  spell-bound  ranks,  and  multiform  were  the  speculations  on 
his  destiny.  He  attended  an  early  levee,  in  order  that  he 
might  be  presented — a  needful  ceremony  which  had  not  yet 
taken  place — and  then  again  quitted  his  country,  and  for  years. 
He  was  heard  of  in  every  capital  except  his  own.  Wonderful 
exploits  at  St.  Petersburg  and  Paris  and  Madrid,  deeds  of 
mark  at  Vienna,  and  eccentric  adventures  at  Rome.  But  poor 
Melton,  alas!  expecting -him  to  return  every  season,  at  last  em- 
balmed him,  and  his  cooks  and  his  hunters  and  his  daring  sad- 
dle, as  a  tradition — jealous  a  little  of  Newmarket,  whither, 
though  absent,  he  was  frequently  transmitting  foreign  blood, 
and  where  his  horses  still  ran  and  were  often  victorious. 

At  last  it  would  appear  that  the  restless  Lord  Montfort  had 
found  his  place,  and  that  place  was  Paris.  There  he  dwelt 
for  years  in  Sybaritic  seclusion.  He  built  himself  a  palace, 
which  he  called  a  villa,  and  which  was  the  most  fanciful  of 
structures,  and  full  of  every  beautiful  object  which  rare  taste 
and  boundless  wealth  could  procure,  from  undoubted  RafFaelles, 
to  jewelled  toys.  It  was  said  that  Lord  Montfort  saw  no  one. 
He  certainly   did  not  court  or  receive  his  own  countrymen  j 


204  END  r MI  ON, 

and  this,  perhaps,  gave  rise  to,  or  at  least  caused  to  be  exag- 
gerated, the  tales  that  were  rife  of  his  profusion,  and  even  his 
profligacy.  But  it  was  not  true  that  he  was  entirely  isolated. 
He  lived  much  with  the  old  families  of  France  in  their 
haughty  faubourg,  and  was  highly  considered  by  them.  It 
was  truly  a  circle  for  which  he  was  adapted.  Lord  Montfort 
was  the  only  living  Englishman  who  gave  one  an  idea  of  the 
nobleman  of  the  eighteenth  century.  He  was  totally  devoid  of 
the  sense  of  responsibility,  and  he  looked  what  he  resembled. 
His  manner,  though  simple  and  natural,  was  finished  and  re- 
fined, and  free  from  forbidding  reserve,  was  yet  characterized 
by  an  air  of  serious  grace. 

With  the  exception  of  the  memorable  year  when  he  sacri- 
ficed his  nomination  boroughs  to  the  cause  for  which  Hampden 
died  on  the  field  and  Sidney  on  the  scaflTold — that  is  to  say,  the 
Whig  government  of  England — Lord  Montfort  had  been 
absent  from  his  country  for  ten  years;  and  one  day,  in  his 
statued  garden  at  the  Belvedere,  he  asked  himself  what  he  had 
gained  by  it.  There  was  no  subject,  divine  or  human,  in  which 
he  took  the  slightest  interest.  He  entertained  for  human  nature 
generally,  and  without  any  exception,  the  most  cynical  appre- 
ciation. He  had  a  sincere  and  profound  conviction  that  no 
man  or  woman  ever  acted  except  from  selfish  or  interested 
motives.  Society  was  intolerable  to  him — that  of  his  own  sex 
and  station  wearisome  beyond  expression;  their  conversation 
consisted  only  of  two  subjects,  horses  and  women,  and  he  had 
long  exhausted  both.  As  for  female  society,  if  they  were  ladies, 
it  was  expected  that,  in  some  form  or  other,  he  should  make 
love  to  them,  and  he  had  no  sentiment.  If  he  took  refuge  in 
the  demi-monde  he  encountered  vulgarity,  and  that  to  Lord 
Montfort  was  insufferable.  He  had  tried  them  in  every  capi- 
tal, and  vulgarity  was  the  badge  of  all  their  tribe.  He  had 
attempted  to  read;  a  woman  had  told  him  to  read  French 
novels,  but  he  found  them  only  a  clumsy  representation  of  the 
life  which  for  years  he  had  practically  been  leading.  An  acci-^ 
dent  made  him  acquainted  with  Rabelais  and  Montaigne;  andl 
he  had  relished  them,  for  he  had  a  fine  sense  of  humor.  Hel 
might  have  pursued  these  studies,  and  perhaps  have  found  in 
them  a  slight  and  occasional  distraction,  but  a  clever  man  he 
met  at  a  guingette  at  Passy,  where  he  had  gone  to  try  to 
dissipate  his  weariness  in  disguise,  had  convinced  him  that  if 
there  were  a  worthy  human  pursuit,  an  assumption  which  was 


ENDTMIOJ^.  205 

doubtful,  it  was  that  of  science,  as  it  impressed  upon  man  his 
utter  insignificance. 

No  one  could  say  Lord  Montfort  was  a  bad-hearted  man,  for 
he  had  no  heart.  He  was  good-natured,  provided  it  brought 
him  no  inconvenience;  and  as  for  temper,  his  was  never  dis- 
turbed, but  this  not  from  sweetness  of  disposition,  rather  from 
a  contemptuous  fine  taste,  which  assured  him  that  a  gentleman 
should  never  be  deprived  of  tranquillity  in  a  world  where 
nothing  was  /^f  the  slightest  consequence. 

The  result  of  these  reflections  was  that  he  was  utterly 
wearied  of  Belvedere  and  Paris,  and,  as  his  mind  was  now 
rather  upon  science,  he  fancied  he  should  like  to  return  to  a 
country  where  it  flourished,  and  where  he  indulged  in  plans  of 
erecting  colossal  telescopes,  and  of  promoting  inquiry  into  the 
oriffin  of  thinofs.  He  thought  that  with  science  and  with  fish- 
ing,  the  only  sport  to  which  he  still  really  clung,  for  he  liked 
the  lulling  influence  of  running  streams,  and  a  pastime  he 
could  pursue  in  loneliness,  existence  might  perhaps  be  endured. 

Society  was  really  surprised  when  it  heard  of  the  return  of 
Lord  Montfort  to  England.  He  came  back  in  the  autumn,  so 
that  there  should  be  no  season  to  encounter,  and  his  flag  was 
soon  flying  at  his  castle.  There  had  been  continuous  attacks 
for  years  on  the  government  for  having  made  an  absentee 
lord-lieutenant  of  his  county,  and  conferring  the  high  distinc- 
tion of  the  garter  on  so  profligate  a  character.  All  this  made 
his  return  more  interesting  and  exciting. 

A  worthy  nobleman  of  high  rank  and  of  the  same  county, 
who,  for  the  last  five  years,  everybody,  shaking  everybody's 
head,  had  been  saying  ought  to  have  been  lord-lieutenant,  had 
a  great  county  function  in  his  immediate  neighborhood  in  the 
late  autumn,  and  had  invited  a  large  party  to  assist  him  in  its 
celebration.  It  seemed  right,  also,  to  invite  the  lord-lieutenant, 
but  no  one  expected  that  he  would  make  his  appearance.  On 
the  contrary,  the  invitation  was  accepted,  and  the  sensation 
was  great.  What  would  he  be  like,  and  what  would  he  do, 
and  was  he  so  very  wicked  as  the  county  newspaper  said  ?  He 
came,  this  wicked  man,  with  his  graceful  presence  and  his  dia- 
mond star,  and  everybody's  heart  palpitated  with  a  due  mixture 
of  terror  and  admiration.  The  only  exception  to  these  feelings 
was  the  daughter  of  the  house,  the  Lady  Berengaria.  She  was 
then  in  her  second  season,  but  still  unparagoned,  for  she  was  a. 
fastidious,  not  to  say  disdainful,  lady.  The  highest  had  been  at' 
her  feet,  and  sued  in  vain.     She  was  a  stirring  spirit,  with 


2o6  END  7  Ml  ON. 

great  ambition,  and  a  daring  will;  never  content  except  in 
society,  and  influencing  it — for  which  she  was  qualified  by  her 
grace  and  lively  fancy,  her  ready,  though  capricious,  sympathy, 
and  her  passion  for  admiration. 

The  function  was  successful,  and  the  county  full  of  enthusi- 
asm for  their  lord-lieutenant,  whose  manner  quite  cleared  his 
character.  The  party  did  not  break  up;  in  fact,  the  function 
was  only  an  excuse  for  the  party.  There  was  sport  of  all 
kinds,  and  in  the  evening  a  carnival — for  Lady  Berengaria  re- 
quired everybody  about  her  to  be  gay  and  diverting — games 
and  dances,  and  infinite  frolic.  Lord  Montiort,  who,  to  the 
surprise  of  every  one,  did  not  depart,  spoke  to  her  a  little,  and 
perhaps  would  not  have  spoken  at  all,  had  they  not  met  in  the 
hunting-field.  Lady  Berengaria  was  a  first-rate  horsewoman, 
and  really  in  the  saddle  looked  irresistible. 

The  night  before  the  party,  which  had  lasted  a  week, 
broke  up  Lord  Montfort  came  and  sat  by  Lady  Berenga- 
ria. He  spoke  about  the  run  of  the  morning,  and  she  replied 
in  the  same  vein.  "  I  have  got  a  horse.  Lady  Berengaria, 
which  I  should  like  you  to  ride.     Would  you  do  so?" 

"  Certainly,  and  what  sort  of  horse  is  it?" 

"  You  shall  see  to-morrow.  It  is  not  far  off.  I  like  to  have 
some  horses  always  near,"  and  then  he  walked  away. 

It  was  a  dark  chestnut,  of  matchless  beauty.  Lady  Beren- 
garia, who  was  of  an  emphatic  nature,  was  loud  in  her  admira- 
tion of  its  beauty  and  its  hunting  qualities. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Lord  Montfort,  "  that  it  will  spoil 
you  for  any  other  horse,  and  therefore  I  shall  ask  permission 
to  leave  it  here  for  your  use." 

The  party  broke  up,  but  strange  to  say,  Lord  Montfort  did 
not  depart.  It  was  a  large  family.  Lady  Berengaria  had 
several  sisters;  her  eldest  brother  was  master  of  the  hounds, 
and  her  younger  brothers  were  asserting  their  rights  as  cadets 
and  killing  their  father's  pheasants.  There  were  also  a  number 
of  cousins,  who  were  about  the  same  age,  and  were  always 
laughing,  though  it  was  never  quite  clear  what  it  was  about. 
An  affectation  of  gayety  may  be  sometimes  detected  in  youth. 

As  Lord  Montfort  always  had  the  duty  of  ushering  the  lady 
of  the  house  to  dinner,  he  never  had  the  opportunity  of  con- 
versing with  Lady  Berengaria,  even  had  he  wished  it;  but  it 
was  not  at  all  clear  that  he  did  wish  it,  and  it  seemed  that 
he  talked  as  much  to  her  sisters  and  the  laughing  cousins  as  to 


ENDTMTON,  207 

herself,  but  still  he  did  not  go  away,  which  was  most  strange, 
and  commenced  to  be  embarrassing. 

At  last  one  evening,  both  her  parents  slumbering,  one  over 
the  newspaper  and  the  other  over  her  work,  and  the  rest  of  the 
party  in  a  distant  room  playing  at  some  new  game  amid  occa- 
sional peals  of  laughter.  Lord  Montfort,  who  had  been  sitting 
for  some  time  by  Lady  Berengaria's  side,  and  only  asking  now 
and  then  a  question,  though  often  a  searching  one,  in  order  to 
secure  her  talking  to  him,  rather  abruptly  said,  "  I  wonder  if 
anything  would  ever  induce  you  to  marry  me?" 

This  was  the  most  startling  social  event  of  the  generation. 
Society  immediately  set  a-wondering  how  it  would  turn  out, 
and  proved  very  clearly  that  it  must  turn  out  badly.  Men  who 
knew  Montfort  well  at  Paris  looked  knowing  and  said  they 
would  give  it  six  months. 

But  the  lady  was  as  remarkable  as  a  woman  as  the  bride- 
groom was  in  his  sex.  Lady  Berengaria  was  determined  to  be 
the  queen  of  society,  and  had  confidence  in  her  unlimited 
influence  over  man.  It  is,  however,  rather  diflicult  to  work  on 
the  feelings  of  a  man  who  has  no  heart.  This  she  soon  found 
out,  and  to  her  dismay,  but  she  kept  it  a  profound  secret.  By 
endless  ingenuity  on  her  part,  affairs  went  on  very  well  much 
longer  than  the  world  expected,  and  long  enough  to  fulfil  the 
object  of  Lady  Berengaria's  life.  Lord  Montfort  launched  his 
wife  well,  and  seemed  even  content  to  be  occasionally  her  com- 
panion until  she  had  mounted  the  social  throne.  He  was  proud 
of  her  as  he  would  be  of  one  of  his  beautiful  horses ;  but  when 
all  the  world  had  acknowledged  the  influence  of  Berengaria  he 
fell  into  one  of  his  old  moods,  and  broke  to  her  that  he  could 
bear  it  no  longer,  and  that  he  must  retire  from  society.  Lady 
Montfort  looked  distressed,  but,  resolved  under  no  circum- 
stances to  be  separated  from  her  husband,  whom  she  greatly 
admired,  and  to  whom,  had  he  wished  it,  she  could  have 
become  even  passionately  attached,  signified  her  readiness  to 
share  his  solitude.  But  she  then  found  out  that  this  was  not 
what  he  wanted.  It  was  not  only  retirement  from  society,  but 
retirement  from  Lady  Montfort  that  was  indispensable.  In 
short,  at  no  time  of  his  perverse  career  had  Lord  Montfort 
been  more  wilful. 

During  the  last  years  of  his  residence  in  Paris,  when  he  was 
shut  up  in  his  delicious  Belvedere,  he  had  complained  much  of 
the  state  of  his  health,  and  one  of  his  principal  pursuits  was 
consulting  the  faculty  on  this  interesting  subject.     The  faculty 


ioB  ENDTMIOlsr, 

were  unanimous  in  their  opinion  that  the  disorder  fi'om  \v 
their  patient  was  suffering  was  ennui.  This  persistent  opu 
irritated  him,  and  was  one  of  the  elements  of  his  decisioi  o 
leave  the  country.  The  unexpected  distraction  that  folio  \^ed 
his  return  to  his  native  land  had  made  him  neglect  or  forget 
his  sad  indisposition;  but  it  appears  that  it  had  now  returned, 
and  in  an  aggravated  form.  Unhappily,  the  English  physicians 
took  much  the  same  view  of  the  case  as  their  French  bretliren. 
They  could  find  nothing  organically  wrong  in  the  constitution 
or  condition  of  Lord  Montfort,  and  recommended  occupation 
and  society.  At  present  he  shrank  with  some  disgust  at  the 
prospect  of  returning  to  France,  and  he  had  taken  it  into  his 
head  that  the  climate  of  Montf3rt  did  not  agree  with  him.  He 
was  convinced  that  he  must  live  in  the  south  of  England.  One 
of  the  most  beautiful  and  considerable  estates  in  that  favored 
part  of  our  country  was  virtually  in  the  market,  and  Lord 
Montfort,  at  the  cost  of  half  a  million,  became  the  proprietor 
of  Princedown.  And  here  he  announced  that  he  should  dwell 
and  die. 

This  state  of  affairs  was  a  sad  trial  to  the  proudest  woman 
in  England,  but  Lady  Montfort  was  also  one  of  the  most  able. 
She  resisted  nothing,  sympathized  with  all  his  projects,  and 
watched  her  opjDortunity  when  she  could  extract  from  his  un- 
conscious good-nature  some  reasonable  modification  of  them. 
And  she  ultimately  succeeded  in  establishing  a  modus  Vivendi. 
He  was  to  live  and  die  at  Princedown;  that  was  settled;  but  if 
he  ever  came  to  town  to  consult  his  physicians,  for  example, 
he  was  always  to  inhabit  Montfort  House,  and  if  she  occasion- 
ally required  a  whifF  of  southern  air,  she  was  to  have  her 
rooms  always  ready  for  her  at  Princedown.  She  would  not  in- 
terfere with  him  in  the  least;  he  need  not  even  see  her,  if  he 
were  too  unwell.  Then  as  to  the  general  principle  of  his  life, 
it  was  quite  clear  that  he  was  not  interested  in  anything,  and 
never  would  be  interested  in  anything;  but  there  was  no  rea- 
son that  he  should  not  be  amused.  This  distinction  between 
interest  and  amusement  rather  pleased  and  seemed  to  satisfy 
Lord  Montfort — but  then  it  was  difficult  to  amuse  him.  The 
only  thing  that  ever  amused  him,  he  said,  were  his  wife's  let- 
ters, and  as  he  was  the  most  selfish,  as  well  as  the  most  polite' 
of  men,  he  requested  her  to  write  to  him  every  day.  Grear 
personages  who  are  selfish  and  whimsical,  are  generally  sur- 
rounded by  parasites  and  buffoons,  but  this  would  not  suit  Lord 
Montfort  J  he   sincerely  detested  flattery,   and  he  wearied  in 


ENDTMION,  209 

eight-and-forty  hours  of  the  most  successful  mountebank  In 
society.  What  he  seemed  inclined  to  was  the  society  of  men 
of  science,  of  travellers  in  rare  parts,  and  of  clever  artists,  in 
short  of  all  persons  w^ho  had  what  he  called  "  idiosyncrasy." 
Civil  engineering  was  then  beginning  to  attract  general  at- 
tention, and  Lord  Montfort  liked  the  society  of  civil  engineers; 
but  what  he  liked  most  were  self-formed  men,  and  to  learn 
the  secret  of  their  success,  and  how  they  made  their  fortunes. 
After  the  first  fit  of  Princedown  was  over.  Lord  Montfort 
found  that  it  was  impossible,  even  with  all  its  fascination, 
to  secure  a  constant,  or  sufficient  presence  of  civil  engineers  in 
such  distant  parts,  and  so  he  got  into  the  habit  of  coming  up 
to  Montfort  House,  that  he  might  find  companions  and  be 
amused.  Lady  Montfort  took  great  pains  that  he  should  not 
be  disappointed,  and  catered  for  him  with  all  the  skill  of  an 
accomplished  chef.  Then,  when  the  occasion  served,  she  went 
down  to  Princedown  herself  with  welcome  guests — and  so  it 
turned  out  that  circumstances,  which  treated  by  an  ordinary 
mind  must  have  led  to  a  social  scandal,  were  so  adroitly  ma- 
nipulated, that  the  world  little  apprehended  the  real  and  some- 
what mortifying  state  of  affairs.  With  the  utmost  license  of 
ill-nature,  they  could  not  suppose  that  Lord  and  Lady  Mont- 
fort, living  under  the  same  roof,  might  scarcely  see  each  other 
for  weeks,  and  that  his  communications  with  her,  and  indeed 
generally,  were  always  in  writing. 

Lady  Montfort  never  could  agree  with  her  husband  in  the 
cardinal  assumption  of  his  philosophy.  One  of  his  reasons  for 
never  doing  anything,  was  that  there  was  nothing  for  him  to 
attain.  He  had  got  everything.  Here  they  at  once  separated 
in  their  conclusions.  Lady  Montfort  maintained  they  had  got 
nothing.  "  What,"  she  would  say,  "  are  rank  and  wealth  to 
us?  We  were  born  to  them.  We  want  something  that  we 
were  not  born  to.  You  reason  like  a  parvenu.  Of  course,  if 
you  had  created  your  rank  and  your  riches  you  might  rest  on 
your  oars,  and  find  excitement  in  the  recollection  of  what  you 
had  achieved.  A  man  of  your  position  ought  to  govern  the 
country,  and  it  always  was  so  in  old  days.  Your  family  were 
prime-ministers ;  why  not  you,  with  as  much  talent,  and  much 
more  knowledge?" 

"  You  would  make  a  very  good  prime-minister,  Berengaria." 

"  Ah !  you  always  jest,  I  am  serious." 

"  And  so  am  I.  If  I  ever  am  to  work,  I  would  sooner  be  a 
civil  engineer  than  a  prime-minister." 


2IO  END  r MI  ON, 

Nothing  but  the  indomitable  spirit  of  Lady  Montfort  could 
fight  successfully  against  such  obstacles  to  her  schemes  of 
power  as  were  presented  by  the  peculiar  disposition  of  her  lord. 
Her  receptions  every  Saturday  night  during  the  season  were 
the  most  important  of  social  gatherings,  but  she  held  them 
alone.  It  was  by  consummate  skill  that  she  had  prevailed  up- 
on her  lord  occasionally  appearing  at  their  preceding  banquets, 
and  when  they  were  over,  he  flitted  for  an  instant  and  disap- 
peared. At  first,  he  altogether  refused,  but  then  Lady  Mont- 
fort would  induce  Royalty,  always  kind,  to  condescend  to  ex- 
press a  wish  to  dine  at  Montfort  House,  and  that  was  a  gracious 
intimation  it  was  impossible  not  to  act  upon,  and  then,  as  Lady 
Montfort  would  say,  "  I  trust  much  to  the  periodical  visits  of 
that  dear  Queen  of  Mesopotamia.  He  must  entertain  her,  for 
his  father  was  her  lover.  " 

In  this  wonderful  mystification,  by  which  Lord  Montfort 
was  made  to  appear  as  living  in  a  society  which  he  scarcely 
ever  entered,  his  wife  was  a  little  assisted  by  his  visits  to  New- 
market, which  he  even  frequently  attended.  He  never  made 
a  bet  or  a  new  acquaintance,  but  he  seemed  to  like  meeting 
men  with  whom  he  had  been  at  school.  There  is  certainly  a 
magic  in  the  memory  of  school-boy  friendships;  it  softens  the 
heart,  and  even  aflfects  the  nervous  system  of  those  who  have 
no  hearts.  Lord  Montfort  at  Newmarket  would  ask  half  a 
dozen  men  who  had  been  at  school  with  him,  and  were  now 
members  of  the  Jockey  Club,  to  be  his  guests,  and  the  next 
day  all  over  the  heath,  and  after  the  heath,  all  over  May  Fair 
and  Belgravia,  you  heard  only  one  speech — "  I  dined,  yester- 
day," or  "  the  other  day,"  as  the  case  might  be,  "  with  Mont- 
fort; out  and  out  the  best  dinner  I  ever  had,  and  such  an  agree- 
able fellow;  the  wittiest,  the  most  amusing,  certainly  the  most 
charming  fellow  that  ever  lived;  out  and  out!  It  is  a  pity  he 
does  not  show  a  little  more."  And  society  thought  the  same; 
they  thought  it  a  pity,  and  a  great  one,  that  this  fascinating 
being  of  whom  they  rarely  caught  a  glimpse,  and  who  to  them 
took  the  form  of  a  wasted  and  unsympathizing  phantom, 
should  not  show  a  little  more  and  delight  them.  But  the  most 
curious  thing  was,  that  however  rapturous  were  his  guests,  the 
feelings  of  thei'r  host  after  thej  had  left  him,  were  by  no 
means  reciprocal.  On  the  contrary,  he  would  remark  to 
himself,  "  Have  I  heard  a  single  thing  worth  remembering? 
Not  one." 


END  r MI  ON.  211 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


Endymion  was  a  little  agitated  when  he  arrived  at  the  door 
of  Montfort  House,  a  huge  family  mansion  situate  in  a  court- 
yard and  looking  into  the  Green  Park.  When  the  door  was 
opened  he  found  himself  in  a  large  hall  with  many  servants, 
and  he  was  ushered  through  several  rooms  on  the  ground-tloor, 
into  a  capacious  chamber  dimly  lighted,  where  there  were 
several  gentlemen,  but  not  his  hostess.  His  name  was  an- 
nounced, and  then  a  young  man  came  up  to  him  and  mentioned 
that  Lord  and  Lady  Montfort  would  soon  be  present,  and  then 
talked  to  him  about  the  weather.  The  Count  of  Ferroll  ar- 
rived after  Endymion,  and  then  another  gentleman  whose  name 
he  could  not  catch.  Then  while  he  was  making  some  original 
observations  on  the  east  wind,  and,  to  confess  the  truth,  feeling 
anything  but  at  his  ease,  the  folding-doors  of  a  further  chamber 
brilliantly  lighted  were  thrown  open,  and  almost  at  'the  same 
moment  Lady  Montfort  entered,  and,  taking  the  Count  of 
Ferroll's  arm,  walked  into  the  dining-room.  It  was  a  round 
table,  and  Endymion  was  told  by  the  same  gentleman  who  had 
already  addressed  him,  that  he  was  to  sit  by  Lady  Montfort. 

"  Lord  Montfort  is  a  little  late  to-day,"  she  said,  "  but  he 
wished  me  not  to  wait  for  him.  And  how  are  you  after  our 
parliamentary  banquet?  "she  said,  turning  to  Endymion;  "I 
will  introduce  you  to  the  Count  of  Ferroll." 

The  Count  of  Ferroll  was  a  young  man,  and  yet  inclined  to 
be  bald.  He  was  chief  of  a  not  inconsiderable  mission  at  our 
court.  Though  not  to  be  described  as  a  handsome  man,  his 
countenance  was  striking ;  a  brow  of  much  intellectual  develop- 
ment, and  a  massive  jaw.  He  was  tall,  broad-shouldered,  with 
a  slender  waist.  He  greeted  Endymion  with  a  penetrating 
glance,  and  then  with  a  winning  smile. 

The  Count  of  Ferroll  was  the  representative  of  a  kingdom 
which,  if  not  exactly  created,  had  been  moulded  into  a  certain 
form  of  apparent  strength  and  importance  by  the  Congress  of 
Vienna.  He  was  a  noble  of  considerable  estate  in  a  country 
where  possessions  were  not  extensive  or  fortunes  large,  though 
it  was  ruled  by  an  ancient  and  haughty  and  warlike  aristocracy. 
Like  his  class,  the  Count  of  Ferroll  had  received  a  military 
education;  but  when  that  education  was  completed,  he  found 
but  a  feeble  prospect  of  his  acquirements  being  called  into  action. 
It  was  believed  that  the  age  of  great  wars  had  ceased,  and  that 
fven  revolutions  for  the  future  were  to  be  controlled  by  diplQ' 


2t:;e  END  r MI  ON. 

macy.  As  he  was  a  man  of  an  original,  not  to  say  eccentric,  turn 
of  mind,  the  Count  of  Ferroll  was  not  contented  with  the  re- 
sources and  distraction  of  his  second-rate  capital.  He  was  an 
eminent  sportsman,  and  for  some  time  took  refuge  and  found 
excitement  in  the  breadth  of  his  dark  forests,  and  in  the  forma- 
tion of  a  stud,  which  had  already  become  celebrated.  But  at 
this  time,  even  in  the  excitement  of  the  chase,  and  in  the  rais- 
ing of  his  rare-bred  steeds,  the  Count  of  Ferroll  might  be  said 
to"  have  been  brooding  over  the  position  of  what  he  could 
scarcely  call  his  country,  but  rather  an  aggregation  of  lands 
baptized  by  protocols,  and  christened  and  consolidated  by  trea- 
ties which  he  looked  upon  as  eminently  untrustworthy.  One 
day  he  surprised  his  sovereign,  with  whom  he  was  a  favorite, 
by  requesting  to  be  appointed  to  the  legation  at  London,  which 
was  vacant.  The  appointment  was  at  once  made,  and  the 
Count  of  Ferroll  had  now  been  two  years  at  the  Court  of  St. 
James. 

The  Count  of  Ferroll  was  a  favorite  in  English  society,  for 
he  possessed  every  quality  which  there  conduces  to  success. 
He  was  of  great  family  and  of  distinguished  appearance, 
munificent  and  singularly  frank;  was  a  dead  shot,  and  the 
boldest  of  riders,  with  horses  which  were  the  admiration  alike 
of  Melton  and  Newmarket.  The  ladies  also  approved  of  him, 
for  he  was  a  consummate  waltzer,  and  mixed  with  a  badinage 
gayly  cynical  a  tone  that  could  be  tender  and  a  bewitching 
smile. 

But  his  great  friend  was  Lady  Montfort.  He  told  her 
everything,  and  consulted  her  on  everything;  and  though  he 
rarely  praised  anybody,  it  had  reached  her  ears  that  the  Count 
of  Ferroll  had  said  more  than  once  that  she  was  a  greater  woman 
than  Louise  of  Savoy  or  the  Duchesse  de  Longueville. 

There  was  a  slight  rustling  in  the  room.  A  gentleman  had 
entered  and  glided  into  his  unoccupied  chair,  which  his  valet 
had  guarded.  "  I  fear  I  am  not  in  time  for  an  oyster,"  said 
Lord  Montfort  to  his  neighbor. 

The  gentleman  who  had  first  spoken  to  Endymion  was  the 
secretary  of  Lord  Montfort;  then  there  was  a  great  genius 
who  was  projecting  a  suspension  bridge  over  the  Tyne,  and 
that  was  in  Lord  Montfort's  country.  A  distinguished  oflncer 
of  the  British  Museum  completed  the  party  with  a  person  who 
sat  opposite  Endymion,  and  whom  in  the  dim  twilight  he  had 
not  recognized,  but  whom  he  now  beheld  with  no  little  emo- 
tion.    It  was  Nigel  Penruddock.     They  had  not  met  sinc^ 


ENDTMIOK  ai^ 

his  mother's  funeral,  and  the  associations  of  the  past  agitated 
Endymion.  They  exchanged  recognitions;  that  of  Nigel  was 
grave  but  kind. 

The  conversation  was  what  is  called  general,  and  a  great 
deal  on  suspension  bridges.  Lord  Montfort  himself  led  off  on 
this,  in  order  to  bring  out  his  distinguished  guest.  -The  Count 
of  FerroU  was  also  interested  on  this  subject,  as  his  own 
government  was  making  inquiries  on  the  matter.  The 
gentleman  from  the  British  Museum  made  some  remarks  on 
the  mode  in  which  the  ancient  Egyptians  moved  masses  of 
granite,  and  quoted  Herodotus  to  the  civil  engineer.  The  civil 
engineer  had  never  heard  of  Herodotus,  but  said  he  was  going 
to  Egypt  in  the  autumn,  by  desire  of  Mehemet  Ali,  and  he 
would  undertake  to  move  any  mass  which  was  requisite,  even 
if  it  were  a  pyramid  itself.  Lady  Montfort,  without  disturb- 
ing the  general  conversation,  whispered  in  turns  to  the  Count 
of  Ferroll  and  Endymion,  and  told  the  latter  that  she  had  paid 
a  visit  to  Lady  Roehampton  in  the  morning — a  most  delightful 
visit.  There  was  no  person  she  admired  so  much  as  his  sister; 
she  quite  loved  her.  The  only  person  who  was  silent  was 
Nigel,  but  Lady  Montfort,  who  perceived  everything,  ad- 
dressed him  across  the  table  with  enthusiasm  about  some 
changes  he  had  made  in  the  service  of  some  church,  and  the 
countenance  of  Nigel  became  suffused  like  a  young  saint  who 
has  a  glimpse  of  Paradise. 

After  dinner  Lady  Montfort  led  Endymion  to  her  lord,  and 
left  him  seated  by  his  host;  Lord  Montfort  was  affable  and 
natural  in  his  manner.  He  said,  "  I  have  not  yet  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Lady  Roehampton,  for  I  never  go  out;  but  I 
hope  to  do  so,  for  Lady  Montfort  tells  me  she  is  quite  cap- 
tivating." 

"  She  is  a  very  good  sister,"  said  Endymion. 

"  Lady  Montfort  has  told  me  a  great  deal  about  yourself,  and 
all  of  it  I  was  glad  to  hear.  I  like  young  men  who  rise  by 
their  merits,  and  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  tells  Lady  Montfort  that 
yours  are  distinguished." 

"  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  Is  a  kind  master,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  was  his  fag  at  Harrow,  and  I  thought  him  so,"  said 
Lord  Montfort.  "  And  now  about  your  office ;  tell  me  what 
you  do.  You  were  not  there  first.  Lady  Montfort  says. 
Where  were  you  first?     Tell  me  all  about  it.     I  like  detail." 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  such  polished  and  amiable  curios- 
ity, and  Endymion  gratified  it  with  youthful  grace.     He  even 


2  If  ENDTMION. 

gave  Lord  Montfort  a  sketch  of  St.  Barbe,  inspired  probably 
by  the  interview  of  the  morning.  Lord  Montfort  was  quite 
amused  with  this,  and  said  he  should  so  much  like  to  know  Mr. 
St.  Barbe.  It  was  clear,  when  the  party  broke  up,  that  En- 
dymion  had  made  a  favorable  impression,  for  Lord  Montfort 
said,  "  You  came  here  to  day  as  Lady  Montfort's  friend,  but 
you  must  come  in  future  as  mine  also.  And  will  you  under- 
stand, I  dine  at  home  every  day  when  I  am  in  town,  and  I  give 
you  a  general  invitation.  Come  as  often  as  you  like;  you 
will  be  always  welcome.  Only  let  the  house  know  your  in- 
tention an  hour  before  dinner-time,  as  I  have  a  particular  aver- 
sion to  the  table  being  crowded  or  seeing  an  empty  chair." 

Lady  Montfort  had  passed  much  of  the  evening  in  earnest 
conversation  with  Nigel,  and  when  the  guests  quitted  the 
room,  Nigel  and  Endymion  walked  away  together. 

CHAPTER  LIV. 

The  meeting  between  Nigel  and  Endymion  was  not  an  ord- 
inary one,  and  when  they  were  at  length  alone,  neither  of 
them  concealed  his  feelings  of  pleasure  and  surprise  at  its  oc- 
currence. Nigel  had  been  a  curate  in  the  northern  town  which 
was  defended  by  Lord  Montfort's  proud  castle,  and  his  labors 
and  reputation  had  attracted  the  attention  of  Lady  Montfort. 
Under  the  influence  of  his  powerful  character,  the  services  of 
his  church  were  celebrated  with  a  precision  and  an  imposing 
effect  which  soon  occasioned  a  considerable  excitement  in  the 
neighborhood,  in  time  even  in  the  county.  The  pulpit  was 
frequently  at  his  command,  for  his  rector,  who  had  imbibed 
his  Church  views,  was  not  equal  to  the  task  of  propagating 
them,  and  the  power  and  fame  of  Nigel  as  a  preacher  began 
to  be  much  rumored.  Althou^^h  the  church  at  which  he  ofiic;- 
ated  was  not  the  one  which  Lady  Montfort  usually  attended, 
she  was  soon  among  his  congregation,  and  remained  there. 
He  became  a  constant  guest  at  the  castle,  and  Lady  Montfort 
presented  his  church  with  a  reredos  of  alabaster.  She  did 
more  than  this.  Her  enthusiasm  exceeded  her  selfishness,  for 
though  the  sacrifice  was  great  which  would  deprive  her  of  the 
ministrations  and  society  of  Nigel  in  the  country,  she  prevailed 
upon  the  prime-minister  to  prefer  him  to  a  new  church  in  Lon- 
don, which  had  just  fallen  vacant,  and  which,  being  situated  in 
a  wealthy  and  populous  district,  would  afford   him  the  oppor- 


END  r MI  ON.  ii5 

tunity  of  making  known  to  the  world  his  eloquence  and  genius. 
This  was  Nigel's  simple,  yet  not  uneventful  history ;  and  then, 
in  turn,  he  listened  to  Endymion's  brief  but  interesting  narra- 
tive of  his  career,  and  then  they  agreed  to  adjourn  to  Endym- 
ion's  chambers  and  have  a  good  talk  over  the  past  and  the 
present. 

"  That  Lady  Montfort  is  a  great  woman,  said  Nigel,  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  fire.  "  She  has  it  in  her  to  be  another 
Empress  Helena." 

"Indeed!" 

**  I  believe  she  has  only  one  thought,  and  that  the  only 
thought  worthy  the  human  mind — the  Church.  I  was  glad  to 
meet  you  at  her  house.  You  have  cherished,  I  hope,  those 
views  which  in  your  boyhood  you  so  fervently  and  seriously 
embraced." 

"  I  am  rather  surprised,"  said  Endymion,  not  caring  to  answer 
this  inquiry,  "  at  a  Whig  lady  entertaining  such  high  views  in 
these  matters.  The  Liberal  party  rather  depends  on  the  Low 
Church." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  Whigs  or  Tories  or  Liberals,  or  any 
other  new  names  which  they  invent,"  said  Nigel.  "  Nor  do  I 
know,  or  care  to  know,"  what  Low  Church  means.  There  is 
but  one  Church,  and  it  is  catholic  and  apostolic;  and  if  we  act 
on  its  principles,  there  will  be  no  need,  and  there  ought  to  be 
no  need,  for  any  other  form  of  government." 

"  Well,  those  are  very  distinct  views,"  said  Endymion,  "  but 
are  they  as  practical  as  they  are  clear? " 

"  Why  should  they  not  be  practical  ?  Everything  is  practi- 
cal which  we  believe;  and  in  the  long  run,  which  is  most 
likely  t'hat  we  should  believe,  what  is  taught  by  God  or  what 
is  taught  by  man  ?" 

"  I  confess,"  said  Endymion,  "  that  in  all  matters,  both  civil 
and  religious,  I  incline  to  what  is  moderate  and  temperate.  I 
always  trace  my  dear  father's  sad  end,  and  all  the  terrible 
events  in  my  family,  to  his  adopting  in  1829  the  views  of  the 
extreme  party.  If  he  had  only  followed  the  example  and  the 
advice  of  his  best  friend,  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  what  a  different 
state  of  affairs  might  have  occurred ! " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  politics,"  said  Nigel.  "  By  being 
moderate  and  temperate  in  politics  I  suppose  you  mean  being 
adroit,  and  doing  that  which  is  expedient  and  which  will  prob- 
ably be  successful.     But  the  Church  is  founded  on  absolute 


2i5  ENDTMION, 

truth,  and  teaches  absolute  truth,  and  there  can  be  no  com- 
promise on  such  matters." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know,"  said  Endymion,  "  but  surely  there 
are  many  very  religious  people  who  do  not  accept  without 
reserve  everything  that  is  taught  by  the  Church.  I  hope  I  am 
a  religious  person  myself,  and  yet,  for  example,  I  cannot  give 
an  unreserved  assent  to  the  whole  of  the  Athanasian  Creed." 

"  The  Athanasian  Creed  is  the  most  splendid  ecclesiastical 
lyric  ever  poured  forth  by  the  genius  of  man.  I  give  to  every 
clause  of  it  an  implicit  assent.  It  does  not  pretend  to  be  divine; 
it  is  humaM — but  the  Church  has  hallowed  it,  and  the  Church 
ever  acts  under  the  influence  of  the  Divine  Spirit.  St.  Athan- 
asius  was  by  far  the  greatest  man  that  ever  existed.  If  you 
cavil  at  his  creed,  you  will  soon  cavil  at  other  symbols.  I  was 
prepared  for  infidelity  in  London,  but  I  confess,  my  dear 
Ferrars,  you  alarm  me.  I  was  in  hopes  that  your  early  educa- 
tion would  have  saved  you  from  this  backsliding." 

"  But  let  us  be  calm,  my  dear  Nigel.  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  I  am  to  be  considered  an  infidel  or  an  apostate  because, 
although  I  fervently  embrace  all  the  vital  truths  of  religion, 
and  try,  on  the  whole,  to  regulate  my  life  by  them,  I  may  have 
scruples  about  believing,  for  example,  in  the  personality  of  the 
Devil?" 

"  If  the  personality  of  Satan  be  not  a  vital  principle  of 
your  religion,  1  do  not  know  what  is.  There  is  only  one 
dogma  higher.  You  think  it  is  safe,  and  I  dare  say  it  is  fash- 
ionable, to  fall  into  this  lax  and  really  thoughtless  discrimi- 
nation between  what  is  and  what  is  not  to  be  believed.  It 
is  not  good  taste  to  believe  in  the  Devil.  Give  me  a  single 
argument  against  his  personality  which  is  not  appKcable  to  the 
personality  of  the  Deity.  Will  you  give  that  up;  and  if  so  where 
are  you?  Now  mark  me;  you  and  I  are  young  men — you 
are  a  very  young  man.  This  is  the  year  of  grace  1S39.  If 
these  loose  thoughts,  which  you  have  heedlessly  taken  up,  pre- 
vail in  this  country  for  a  generation  or  so — five-and-twenty  or 
thirty  years — we  may  meet  together  again,  and  I  shall  have  to 
convince  you  that  there  is  a  God." 

CHAPTER  LV. 

The  balance  of  parties  in  the  House  of  Commons,  which 
had  been  virtually  restored  by  Sir  Robert  Peel's  dissolution  of 
1834,  might  be  said  to  be  formally  and  positively  established 


END  r MI  ON.  217 

by  the  dissolution  of  Parliament  in  the  autumn  of  1837,  occa- 
sioned by  the  demise  of  the  crown.  The  ministerial  majority 
became  almost  nominal,  while  troubles  from  all  quarters  seemed 
to  press  simultaneously  upon  them :  Canadian  revolts,  Chartist 
insurrections,  Chinese  squabbles,  and  mysterious  complications 
in  Central  Asia,  which  threatened  immediate  hostilities  with 
Persia,  and  even  with  one  of  the  most  powerful  of  European 
empires.  In  addition  to  all  this,  the  revenue  continually  de- 
clined, and  every  day  the  general  prejudice  became  more  in- 
tense against  the  Irish  policy  of  the  ministry.  The  extreme 
popularity  of  the  Sovereign,  reflecting  some  lustre  on  her  min- 
isters, had  enabled  them,  though  not  without  difficulty,  to  tide 
through  the  session  of  1838;  but  when  Parliament  met  in  1839 
their  prospects  were  dark,  and  it  was  known  that  there  was  a 
section  of  the  extreme  Liberals  who  would  not  be  deeply 
mortified  if  the  government  were  overthrown.  All  efforts, 
therefore,  political  and  social,  and  particularly  t'he  latter,  in 
which  the  Whigs  excelled,  were  to  be  made  to  prevent  or  to 
retard  the  catastrophe. 

Lady  Montfort  and  Lady  Roehampton  opened  their  houses 
to  the  general  world  at  an  unusually  early  period.  Their 
entertainments  rivalled  those  of  Zenobia,  who,  with  unflagging 
gallantry,  her  radiant  face  prescient  of  triumph,  stopped  her 
bright  vis-a-vis  and  her  tall  footman  in  the  midst  of  St. 
James's  Street  or  Pall  Mall,  while  she  rapidly  inquired  from 
some  friendly  passer-by  whom  she  had  observed, "  Tell  me  the 
names  of  the  Radical  members  who  want  to  turn  out  t'he 
government,  and  I  will  invite  them  directly." 

Lady  Montfort  had  appropriated  the  Saturdays  as  was  her 
custom  and  her  right;  so  Myra,  with  the  advice  of  Lord  Roe- 
hampton, had  fixed  on  Wednesdays  for  her  receptions. 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  have  taken  Wednesdays,"  said 
Zenobia,  "•  but  I  do  not  care  to  seem  to  be  setting  up  against 
Lady  Roehampton,  for  her  mother  was  my  dearest  friend. 
Not  that  I  think  any  quarter  ought  to  be  shown  to  her  after 
joining  those  atrocious  Whigs,  but  to  be  sure  she  was  corrupted 
by  her  husband,  whom  I  remember  the  most  thorough  Tory 
going.  To  be  sure,  I  was  a  Whig  myself  in  those  days,  so  one 
must  not  say  too  much  about  it,  but  the  Whigs  then  were 
gentlemen.  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I  will  receive 
both  on  Saturdays  and  Wednesdays.  It  is  an  effort,  and  I  am 
not  as  young  as  I  was,  but  it  will  only  be  for  a  season  or  less, 
for  I  know  these  people  cannot  stand.  It  will  be  all  over  by 
May." 


2i8  ENDTMION, 

Prince  Florestan  had  arrived  in  town,  and  was  now  settled 
in  his  mansion  in  Carlton  Terrace.  It  was  the  fashion  among 
the  cretne  de  la  crcme  to  keep  aloof  from  him.  The  Tories 
did  not  love  revolutionary  dynasties,  and  the  Whigs,  being  in 
office,  could  not  sanction  a  pretender,  and  one  ^vho,  they  sig- 
nificantly intimated  with  a  charitable  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
was  not  a  very  scrupulous  one.  The  prince  himself,  though 
he  was  not  insensible  to  the  charms  of  society,  and  especially 
of  agreeable  women,  was  not  much  chagrined  by  this.  The 
world  thought  that  he  had  fitted  up  his  fine  house  and  bought 
his  fine  horses  merely  for  the  enjoyment  of  life.  His  purposes 
were  very  different.  Though  his  acquaintances  were  limited, 
they  were  not  undistinguished,  and  he  lived  with  them  in 
intimacy.  There  had  arisen  between  himself  and  Mr.  Wal- 
dershare  the  closest  alliance  both  of  thought  and  habits.  They 
were  rarely  separated.  The  prince  was  also  a  frequent  guest 
at  the  Neuchatels',  and  was  a  favorite  with  the  head  of  the 
house. 

The  Duke  of  St.  Angelo  controlled  the  household  at  Carl- 
ton Gardens  with  skill.  The  appointments  were  finished  and 
the  cuisine  refined.  There  was  a  dinner  twice  a  week,  at 
which  Waldershare  was  rarely  absent,  and  to  which  Endym- 
ion,  whom  the  prince  always  treated  with  kindness,  had  a  gen- 
eral invitation.  When  he  occasionally  dined  there,  he  met 
always  several  foreign  guests,  and  all  men  apparently  of  mark 
— at  any  rate,  all  distinguished  by  their  intelligence.  It  was 
an  interesting  and  useful  house  for  a  young  man,  and  espe- 
cially a  young  politician  to  frequent.  Endymion  heard  many 
things  and  learned  many  things  which  otherwise  would  not 
have  met  his  ear  or  mind.  The  prince  encouraged  conversa- 
tion, though  himself  inclined  to  taciturnity.  When  he  did 
speak,  his  terse  remarks  and  condensed  views  were  striking, 
and  were  remembered.  On  the  days  on  which  he  did  not  re- 
ceive, the  prince  dined  at  the  Travellers'  Club,  to  which  Wal- 
dershare had  obtained  his  introduction,  and  generally  with 
Waldershare,  who  took  this  opportunity  of  gradually  making  his 
friend  acquainted  with  eminent  and  influential  men,  many  of 
whom  in  due  time  became  guests  at  Carlton  Terrace.  It  was 
clear,  indeed,  that  these  club-dinners  were  part  of  a  system. 

The  prince,  soon  after  his  arrival  in  town,  while  riding,  had 
passed  Lady  Roehampton's  carriage  in  the  park,  and  he  had 
saluted  her  with  a  grave  grace  which  distinguished  him.  She 
was  surprised  at  feeling  a  little  agitated  by  this  rencontre.     It 


ENDTMION.  219 

recalled  Halnault,  her  not  mortifying  but  still  humble  position 
beneath  that  roof,  the  prince's  courtesy  to  her  under  those  cir- 
cumstances, and,  indeed,  his  marked  preference  for  her  society. 
She  felt  it  something  like  ingratitude  to  treat  him  with  neglect 
now,  when  her  position  was  so  changed  and  had  become  so 
elevated.  She  mentioned  to  Lord  Roehampton,  while  they 
were  dining  alone,  that  she  should  like  to  invite  the  prince  to 
her  receptions,  and  asked  his  opinion  on  the  point.  Lord  Roe- 
hampton shrugged  his  shoulders  and  did  not  encourage  her. 
"  You  know,  my  darling,  our  people  do  not  much  like  him. 
They  look  upon  him  as  a  pretender,  as  having  forfeited  his 
parole,  and  as  a  refugee  from  justice.  I  have  no  prejudices 
against  him  myself,  and  perhaps  in  the  same  situation  might 
have  acted  in  the  same  manner;  but  if  he  is  to  be  admitted 
into  society,  it  should  hardly  be  at  a  ministerial  reception,  and 
of  all  houses,  that  of  one  who  holds  my  particular  post." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  his  forfeiting  his  parole,"  said  Lady 
Roehampton;  "the  charge  is  involved  in  mystery,  and  Mr. 
Waldershare  told  me  it  was  an  entire  fabrication.  As  for  his 
being  a  pretender,  he  seems  to  me  as  legitimate  a  prince  as 
most  we  meet ;  he  was  born  in  the  purple,  and  his  father  was 
recognized  by  every  government  in  Europe  except  our  own. 
As  for  being  a  refugee  from  justice,  a  prince  in  captivity  has 
certainly  a  right  to  escape  if  he  can,  and  his  escape  was  roman- 
tic. However,  I  will  not  contest  any  decision  of  yours,  for  I 
think  you  are  always  right.  Only  I  am  disappointed,  for,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  unkind ness,  I  cannot  help  feeling  our  not 
noticing  him  is  rather  shabby." 

There  was  silence,  a  longer  silence  than  usually  occurred  in 
tete-a-tete  dinners  between  Lord  and  Lady  Roehampton.  To 
break  the  silence  he  began  to  converse  on  another  subject,  and 
Lady  Roehampton  replied  to  him  cheerfully,  but  curtly.  He 
saw  she  was  vexed,  and  this  great  man,  who  was  at  that  time 
meditating  one  of  the  most  daring  acts  of  modern  diplomacy, 
who  had  the  reputation,  in  the  conduct  of  public  affairs,  of  not 
only  being  courageous,  but  of  being  stern,  inflexible,  unfeeling, 
and  unscrupulous  beyond  ordinary  statesmen,  who  had  passed 
his  mornings  in  writing  a  menacing  despatch  to  a  great  power 
and  intimating  combinations  to  the  ambassadors  of  other  first- 
rate  states  which  they  almost  trembled  to  receive,  was  quite 
upset  by  seeing  his  wife  chagrined.  At  last,  after  another  em- 
barrassing pause,  he  said  gayly,  "  Do  you  know,  my  dear  Myra, 
I  do  not  see  why  you  should  not  ask  Prince  Florestan.     It  is 


220  END  r MI  ON. 

you  that  ask  him,  not  I.  That  Is  one  of  the  pleasant  results  of 
our  system  of  political  entertainments.  The  guests  come  to 
pay  their  respects  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  so  no  one  is  com- 
mitted. The  Prince  may  \isit  you  on  Wednesday  just  as  well 
as  the  leaders  of  the  Opposition  who  want  our  places,  or  the 
malcontent  Radicals  who  they  say  are  going  to  turn  us  out." 

So  Prince  Florestan  was  invited  to  Lady  Roehampton's  re- 
ceptions, and  he  came ;  and  he  never  missed  one.  His  visits 
were  brief.  He  appeared,  made  his  bow,  had  the  pleasure  of 
some  slight  conversation  with  her,  and  then  soon  retired.  Re- 
ceived by  Lady  Roehampton,  in  time,  though  sluggishly, 
invitations  arrived  from  other  houses,  but  he  rarely  availed 
himself  of  them.  He  maintained  in  this  respect  great  resei^ve, 
and  was  accustomed  to  say  that  the  only  fine  lady  in  London 
who  had  ever  been  kind  to  him  was  Lady  Roehampton. 

All  this  time  Endymion,  who  was  now  thoroughly  planted 
in  society,  saw  a  great  deal  of  the  Neuchatels,  who  had  returned 
to  Portland  Place  at  the  beginning  of  February.  He  met 
Adriana  almost  every  evening,  and  w^as  frequently  invited  to 
the  house — to  the  grand  dinners  now,  as  well  as  the  domestic 
circle.  In  short,  our  Endymion  was  fast  becoming  a  young 
man  of  fashion  and  a  personage.  The  brother  of  Lady  Roe- 
hampton had  now  become  the  private  secretary  of  Mr.  Sidney 
Wilton  and  the  great  friend  of  Lady  Montfort.  He  was  in- 
deed only  one  of  the  numerous  admirers  of  that  lady,  but  he 
seemed  not  the  least  smiled  on.  There  was  never  anything 
delightful  at  Montfort  house  at  which  he  was  not  present,  or 
indeed  in  any  other  place,  for  under  her  influence,  invitations 
from  the  most  distinguished  houses  crowded  his  mantel-piece 
and  were  stuck  all  round  his  looking-glass.  Endymion,  in  this 
whirl  of  life,  did  not  forget  his  old  friends.  He  took  care  that 
Seymour  Hicks  should  have  a  frequent  invitation  to  Lady  Roe- 
hampton's assemblies.  Seymour  Hicks  only  wanted  a  lever  to 
raise  the  globe,  and  this  introduction  supplied  him  with  one. 
It  was  astonishing  how  he  made  his  way  in  society,  and  though, 
of  course,  he  never  touched  the  empyrean  regions  in  which 
Endymion  now  breathed,  he  gradually,  and  at  last  rapidly, 
planted  himself  in  a  world  which  to  the  uninitiated  figures  as 
the  very  realm  of  nobility  and  fashion,  and  where  doubtless  is 
found  a  great  fund  of  si)lcndor,  refinement,  and  amusement. 
Seymour  Hicks  was  not  ill-favored  and  was  always  well- 
dressed,  and  he  was  very  civil,  but  what  he  really  owed  his 
social  advancement  to  was  his  indomitable  will.     That  quality 


ENDTMION,  12\ 

governs  all  things,  and  though  the  will  of  Seymour  Hicks  was 
directed  to  what  many  may  deem  a  petty  or  a  contracted  pur- 
pose, life  is  always  interesting  when  you  have  a  purpose  and 
live  in  its  fulfilment.  It  appeared  from  what  he  told  Endymion 
that  matters  at  the  office  had  altered  a  good  deal  since  he  left 
it.  The  retirement  of  St.  Barbe  was  the  first  brick  out  of  the 
wall;  now,  which  Endymion  had  not  yet  heard,  the  brother  of 
Trenchard  had  most  unexpectedly  died,  and  that  gentleman 
come  into  a  good  estate.  "Jawett  remains,  and  is  also  the 
editor  of  the  Precursor^  but  his  new  labors  so  absorb  his  spare 
time  that  he  is  always  at  the  office  of  the  paper.  So  it  is  pretty 
well  all  over  with  the  table  at  Joe's.  I  confess  I  could  not 
stand  it  any  longer,  particularly  after  you  left.  1  have  got  into 
the  junior  Pan-Ionian;  and  I  am  down  for  the  senior;  I  cannot 
get  in  for  ten  years,  but  when  I  do  it  will  be  a  coupj  the 
society  there  is  tiptop,  a  cabinet  minister  sometimes,  and  very 
often  a  bishop." 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

Endymion  was  glad  to  meet  Baron  Sergius  one  day  when 
he  dined  with  Prince  Florestan.  There  were  several  dis- 
tinguished foreigners  among  the  guests,  who  had  just  arrived. 
They  talked  much,  and  with  much  emphasis.  One  of  them, 
the  Marquis  of  Vallombrosa,  expatiated  on  the  Latin  race, 
their  great  qualities,  their  vivacity,  invention,  vividness  of  per- 
ception, chivalrous  valor,  and  sympathy  with  tradition.  The 
northern  races  detested  them,  and  the  height  of  statesmanship 
was  to  combine  the  Latin  races  into  an  organized  and  active 
alliance  against  the  barbarism  which  menaced  them.  There 
had  been  for  a  short  time  a  vacant  place  next  to  Endymion, 
when  Baron  Sergius,  according  to  his  quiet  manner,  stole  into 
the  room  and  slipped  into  the  unoccupied  seat.  "  It  is  some 
time  since  we  met,"  he  said,  "  but  I  have  heard  of  you.  You 
are  now  a  public  man,  and  not  a  public  character.  That  is  a 
not  unsatisfactory  position." 

The  prince  listened  apparently  with  much  interest  to  the 
Marquis  of  Vallombrosa,  occasionally  asked  him  a  question, 
and  promoted  discussion  without  himself  giving  any  opinion. 
Baron  Sergius  never  spoke  except  to  Endymion,  and  then 
chiefly  social  inquiries  about  Lord  and  Lady  Roehampton, 
their  good  friends,  the  Neuchatels,  and  frequently  about  Mr. 


222  END  r MI  ON. 

Sidney  Wilton,  whom,  it  appeared,  he  had  known  years  ago, 
and  intimately.  After  dinner  the  guests,  on  their  return  to  the 
saloon,  ranged  themselves  in  a  circle,  but  not  too  formally,  and 
the  prince,  moving  round,  addressed  each  of  them  in  turn. 
When  this  royal  ceremony  was  concluded  the  prince  motioned 
to  the  Marquis  of  Vallombrosa  to  accompany  him,  and  then 
they  repaired  to  an  adjacent  saloon,  the  door  of  which  was 
open,  but  where  they  could  converse  without  observation. 
The  Duke  of  St.  Angelo  amused  the  remaining  guests  with  all 
the  resources  of  a  man  practised  in  making  people  feel  at  their 
ease,  and  in  this  he  was  soon  greatly  assisted  by  Mr.  Walder- 
share,  who  was  unable  to  dine  with  the  prince  to-day,  but  who 
seemed  to  take  much  interest  in  this  arrival  of  the  representa- 
tives of  the  Latin  race. 

Baron  Sergius  and  Endymion  were  sitting  together,  rather 
apart  from  the  rest.  The  baron  said,  "  You  have  heard  to-day 
a  great  deal  about  the  Latin  race,  their  wondrous  qualities, 
their  peculiar  destiny,  their  possible  danger.  It  is  a  new  idea, 
or  rather  a  new  phrase,  that  I  observe  is  now  getting  into  the 
political  world,  and  is  probably  destined  to  produce  conse- 
quences. No  man  will  treat  with  indifference  the  principle  of 
race.  It  is  the  key  of  history,  and  why  'history  is  often  so 
confused  is  that  it  has  been  written  by  men  who  were  ignorant 
of  this  principle  and  all  the  knowledge  it  involves.  As  one 
who  may  become  a  statesman  and  assist  in  governing  mankind, 
it  is  necessary  that  you  should  not  be  insensible  to  it;  whether 
you  encounter  its  influence  in  communities  or  in  individuals,  its 
qualities  must  ever  be  taken  into  account.  But  there  is  no 
subject  which  more  requires  discriminating  knowledge,  or 
where  your  illustrating  principle,  if  you  are  not  deeply  founded, 
may  not  chance  to  turn  out  a  will-o'the-wisp.  Now  this  great 
question  of  the  Latin  race,  by  which  M.  de  Vallombrosa  may 
succeed  in  disturbing  the  world — it  might  be  well  to  inquire 
where  the  Latin  race  is  to  be  found?  fn  the  North  of  Italy, 
peopled  by  Germans  and  named  after  the  Germans,  or  in  the 
South  of  Italy,  swarming  with  the  descendants  of  Normans 
and  Arabs?  Shall  we  find  the  Latin  race  in  Spain,  stocked 
by  Goths  and  Moors  and  Jews?  Or  in  France,  where  there  is 
a  great  Celtic  nation,  occasionally  mingled  with  Franks?  Now 
I  do  not  want  to  go  into  the  origin  of  man  and  nations — I  am 
essentially  practical,  and  only  endeavor  to  comprehend  that 
with  which  I  have  personally  to  deal,  and  that  is  sufliciently 
difficult.    In  Europe  I  find  three  great  races  with  distinct  quali- 


END  r MI  ON.  223 

ties — the  Teutons,  the  Sclaves,  and  the  Celts,  and  their  conduct 
will  be  influenced  by  those  distinctive  qualities.  There  is 
another  great  race  which  influences  the  world — the  Semites. 
Certainly,  when  I  was  at  the  Congress  of  Vienna,  I  did  not 
believe  that  the  Arabs  were  more  likely  to  become  a  conquer- 
ing race  again  than  the  Tartars,  and  yet  it  is  a  question  at  this 
moment  whether  Mehemet  Ali,  at  their  head,  may  not  found 
a  new  empire  in  the  Mediterranean.  The  Semites  are 
unquestionably  a  great  race,  for  among  the  few  things  in  this 
world  which  appear  to  be  certain,  nothing  is  more  sure  than 
that  they  invented  our  alphabet.  But  the  Semites  now  exer- 
cise a  vast  influence  over  affairs  by  their  smallest  though  most 
peculiar  family,  the  Jews.  There  is  no  race  gifted  with  so 
much  tenacity,  and  such  skill  in  organization.  These  qualities 
have  given  them  an  unprecedented  hold  over  property  and 
illimitable  credit.  As  you  advance  in  life,  and  get  experience 
in  affairs,  the  Jews  will  cross  you  everywhere.  They  have 
long  been  stealing  into  our  secret  diplomacy,  which  they  have 
almost  appropriated;  in  another  quarter  of  a  century  they  will 
claim  their  share  of  open  government.  Well,  these  are  races; 
men  and  bodies  of  men  influenced  in  their  conduct  by  their 
particular  organization,  and  which  must  enter  into  all  the 
calculations  of  a  statesman.  But  what  do  they  mean  by  the 
Latin  race?  Language  and  religion  do  not  make  a  race — there 
is  only  one  thing  which  makes  a  race,  and  that  is  blood." 

"But  the  prince,"  said  Endymion  inquiringly;  "he  seemed 
much  interested  in  what  M.  de  Vallombrosa  was  saying;  I 
should  like  to  know  what  his  opinions  are  about  the  Latin 
race." 

"  The  prince  rarely  gives  an  opinion,"  said  the  baron.  "  In- 
deed, as  you  well  know,  he  rarely  speaks;  he  thinks  and  he 
acts." 

"  But  if  he  acts  on  wrong  information,"  continued  Endym- 
ion, "  there  will  probably  be  only  one  consequence." 

"  The  prince  is  very  wise,"  said  the  baron ;  "  and  trust  me, 
knows  as  much  about  mankind,  and  the  varieties  of  mankind, 
as  any  one.  He  may  not  believe  in  the  Latin  race,  but  he  may 
choose  to  use  those  who  do  believe  in  it.  The  weakness  of 
the  prince,  if  he  have  one,  is  not  want  of  knowledge  or  want 
of  judgment,  but  an  over-confidence  in  his  star,  which  some- 
times seduces  him  into  enterprises  which  he  himself  feels  at  the 
time  are  not  perfectly  sound." 


224  BNDTMION. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

The  interest  of  the  town  was  now  divided  between  the  dan- 
ger of  the  government  and  the  new  preacher  who  electrified 
the  world  at  St.  Rosicrucius.  The  Rev.  Nigel  Penruddock 
was  not  at  all  a  popular  preacher  according  to  the  vulgar  ac- 
ceptation of  the  term.  He  disdained  all  cant  and  clap-trap. 
He  preached  Church  principles  with  commanding  eloquence, 
and  he  practised  them  with  unceasing  devotion.  His  church 
was  always  open,  yet  his  schools  were  never  neglected ;  there 
was  a  perfect  choir,  a  staft  of  disciplined  curates,  young  and  as- 
cetic, while  sacred  sisters,  some  of  patrician  blood,  fearless  and 
prepared  for  martyrdom,  were  gliding  about  all  the  back 
slums  of  his  ferocious  neighborhood.  How  came  the  Whigs 
to  give  such  a  church  to  such  a  person?  There  must  have 
been  some  mistake.  But  how  came  it  that  all  the  Whig 
ladies  were  among  the  most  devoted  of  his  congregation? 
The  government  whips  did  not  like  it;  at  such  a  critical  period 
too,  when  it  was  necessary  to  keep  the  Dissenters  up  to  the 
mark!  And  there  were  Lady  Montfort  and  Lady  Roehamp- 
ton  never  absent  on  a  Sunday,  and  their  carriages,  it  was 
whispered,  were  often  suspiciously  near  to  St.  Rosicrucius  on 
week-days.  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  too  was  frequently  in  Lady 
Roehampton's  pew,  and  one  day,  absolutely  my  lord  himself, 
who  unfortunately  was  rarely  seen  at  church — but  then,  as  is 
well  known,  critical  despatches  always  arrive  on  a  Sunday 
morning — was  successfully  landed  in  her  pew  by  Lady  Roe- 
hampton,  and  was  very  much  struck  mdeed  by  what  he  heard. 
"The  fact  is,"  as  he  afterwards  observed,"  I  wish  we  had  such 
a  fellow  on  our  bench  in  the  House  of  Commons." 

About  this  time  also  there  was  another  event  which,  although 
not  of  so  general  an  interest,  much  touched  the  feelings  of  En- 
dymion,  and  this  was  the  marriage  of  the  Earl  of  Beaumaris 
with  Imogene.  It  was  solemnized  in  as  private  and  quiet  a 
manner  as  possible.  Waldershare  was  the  best  man,  and  there 
were  no  bridesmaids.  The  only  other  j^ersons  invited  by  Mr. 
Rodney,  who  gave  away  the  bride,  were  Endymion  and  Mr. 
Vigo. 

One  morning,  a  few  days  before  the  wedding,  Sylvia,  who 
had  written  to  ask  Lady  Roehampton  for  an  interview,  called 
by  appointment  in  St.  James's  Square.  Sylvia  was  received 
by  Lady  Roehampton  in  her  boudoir,  and  the  interview  was 
long.     Sylvia,  who  by  nature  was  composed,  and  still  more  so 


ENDTMION,  225 

by  art,  was  pale  and  nervous  when  she  arrived,  so  much  so 
that  her  demeanor  was  noticed  by  the  groom  of  the  chambers; 
but  when  she  departed  her  countenance  was  flushed  and  radi- 
ant, though  it  was  obvious  that  she  had  been  shedding  tears. 
On  the  morning  of  the  wedding.  Lady  Roehampton  in  her 
lord's  brougham  called  for  Endymion  at  the  Albany,  and  then 
they  went  together  to  the  vestry  of  St.  James's  Church.  Lord 
Beaumaris  and  Mr.  Waldershare  had  arrived.  The  bride- 
groom was  a  little  embarrassed  when  he  was  presented  to  Lady 
Roehampton.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  married,  but 
not  to  be  introduced  to  a  stranger,  and  particularly  a  lady;  but 
Mr.  Waldershare  fluttered  over  them  and  put  all  right.  It 
was  only  the  perplexity  of  a  moment,  for  the  rest  of  the  wed- 
ding party  now  appeared.  Imogene,  who  was  in  a  travelling 
dress,  was  pale  and  serious,  but  transcendently  beautiful.  She 
attempted  to  touch  Lady  Roehampton's  hand  with  her  lips 
when  Myra  welcomed  her,  but  Lady  Roehampton  would  not 
permit  this  and  kissed  her.  Everybody  was  calm  during  the 
ceremony  except  Endymion,  who  had  been  silent  the  whole 
morning.  He  stood  by  the  altar  with  that  convulsion  of  the 
throat  and  that  sickness  of  the  heart  which  accompany  the 
sense  of  catastrophe.  He  was  relieved  by  some  tears  which  he 
easily  concealed.  Nobody  noticed  him,  for  all  were  thinking 
of  themselves.  After  the  ceremony,  they  all  returned  to  the 
vestry,  and  Lady  Roehampton  with  the  others  signed  the 
registry.  Lord  and  Lady  Beaumaris  instantly  departed  for  the 
Continent. 

"  K  strange  event !"  exclaimed  Lady  Roehampton,  as  she 
threw  herself  back  in  the  brougharn  and  took  her  brother's 
hand.  "  But  not  stranger  than  what  has  happened  to  our- 
selves. Fortune  seems  to  attend  on  our  ruined  home.  I 
thought  the  bride  looked  beautiful." 

Endymion  was  silent. 

"  You  are  not  gay  this  morning,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Roe- 
hampton ;  "  they  say  that  weddings  are  depressing.  Now  I 
am  in  rather  high  spirits.  I  am  very  glad  that  Imogene  has 
become  Lady  Beaumaris.  She  is  beautiful,  and  dangerously 
beautiful.  Do  you  know,  my  Endymion,  I  have  had  some  un- 
easy moments  about  this  young  lady.  Women  are  prescient 
in  these  matters,  and  I  have  observed  with  anxiety  that  you  ad- 
mired her  too  much  yourself." 

"  I  am  sure  you  had  no  reason,  Myra,"  said  Endymion, 
blushing  deeply. 


336  END7'MI0N, 

"  Certainly  not  from  what  you  said,  my  dear.  It  was  from 
what  you  did  not  say  that  I  became  alarmed.  You  seldom 
mentioned  her  name,  and  when  I  referred  to  her,  you  always 
turned  the  conversation.  However,  that  is  all  over  now.  She 
is  Countess  of  Beaumaris,"  added  Myra,  dwelling  slowly  and 
with  some  unction  on  the  title,  "  and  may  be  a  powerful  friend 
to  you;  and  I  am  Countess  of  Roehampton,  and  am  your 
friend,  also  not  quite  devoid  of  power.  And  there  are  other 
countesses,  I  suspect,  on  whose  good  wishes  you  may  rely. 
If  we  cannot  shape  your  destiny,  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
witchcraft.  No,  Endymion,  marriage  is  a  mighty  instrument 
in  your  hands.  It  must  not  be  lightly  used.  Come  in  and 
lunch;  my  lord  is  at  home,  and  I  know  he  wants  to  see  you." 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

What  was  most  remarkable  and  most  Interesting  in  the 
character  of  Berengaria  was  her  energy.  She  had  the  power 
of  exciting  others  to  action  in  a  degree  rarely  possessed.  She 
had  always  some  considerable  object  in  contemplation,  occa- 
sionally more  than  one,  and  never  foresaw  difficulties.  Her 
character  was,  however,  singularly  feminine;  she  never  affected 
to  be  a  superior  woman.  She  never  reasoned,  did  not  read 
much,  though  her  literary  taste  was  fine  and  fastidious. 
Though  she  required  constant  admiration  and  consequently 
encouraged  it,  she  was  not  a  heartless  coquette.  Her  sensibil- 
ity was  too  quick,  and  as  the  reign  of  her  favorites  was  some- 
times brief,  she  was  looked  upon  as  capricious.  The  truth  is, 
what  seemed  whimsical  in  her  affections  was  occasioned  by  the 
subtlety  of  her  taste,  which  was  not  always  satisfied  by  the  in- 
creased experience  of  intimacy.  Whenever  she  made  a  friend 
not  unworthy  of  her,  she  was  constant  and  entirely  devoted. 

At  present,  Berengaria  had  two  great  objects;  one  was  to 
sustain  the  Whig  government  in  its  troubles,  and  the  other  was 
to  accomplish  an  unprecedented  feat  in  modern  manners,  and 
that  was  no  less  than  to  hold  a  tournament,  a  real  tournament, 
in  the  autumn,  at  the  famous  castle  of  her  lord  in  the  north  of 
England. 

The  lord-lieutenant  had  not  been  in  his  county  for  two 
years ;  he  had  even  omitted  to  celebrate  Christmas  at  his  castle, 


ENDTMION.  227 

which  had  shocked  everybody,  for  its  revehy  was  looked  upon 
ahiiost  as  the  tenure  by  which  the  Montforts  held  their  estates. 
His  plea  of  ill-health,  industriously  circulated  by  all  his  agents, 
neither  obtained  sympathy  nor  credence.  His  county  was 
rather  a  weak  point  with  Lord  Montfort,  for  though  he  could 
not  bear  his  home,  he  was  fond  of  power,  and  power  depended 
on  his  territorial  influence.  The  representation  of  his  county 
by  his  family,  and  authority  in  the  local  parliamentary 
boroughs,  were  the  compensations  held  out  to  him  for  the 
abolition  of  his  nomination  boroughs.  His  wife  dexterously 
availed  herself  of  this  state  of  affairs  to  obtain  his  assent  to  her 
great  project,  which,  it  would  appear,  might  not  only  amuse 
him,  but,  in  its  unprecedented  magnificence  and  novelty,  must 
swee])  away  all  discontents  and  gratify  every  class. 

Lord  Montfort  had  placed  unlimited  resources  at  the  disposal 
of  Berengaria  for  the  fulfilment  of  her  purpose,  and  at  times 
even  showed  some  not  inconsiderable  though  fitful  interest  in 
her  i^rogrcss.  He  turned  over  the  drawings  of  the  various 
costumes  and  armor  with  a  gracious  smile,  and  having  picked 
up  on  such  subjects  a  great  deal  of  knowledge,  occasionally 
made  suggestions  which  were  useful  and  sometimes  embaras- 
sing.  The  heralds  were  ail  called  into  council,  and  Garter 
himself  deigned  to  regulate  the  order  of  proceedings.  Some 
of  the  finest  gentlemen  in  London,  of  both  parties  in  the  State, 
passed  the  greater  part  of  their  spring  mornings  in  jousting 
and  in  practising  all  the  manoeuvres  of  the  lists.  Lady  Mont- 
fort herself  was  to  be  the  Queen  of  the  Tournament,  and  she 
had  jDrevailed  on  Lady  Roehamjoton  to  accept  the  supreme 
office  of  Queen  of  Beauty. 

It  was  the  early  part  of  May,  and  Zenobia  held  one  of  her 
great  assemblies.  Being  in  high  good-humor,  sanguine,  and 
prophetic  of  power,  she  had  asked  all  the  great  Whig  ladies, 
and,  the  times  being  critical,  they  had  come.  Berengaria 
seemed  absorbed  by  the  details  of  her  tournament.  She  met 
many  of  her  knights,  and  she  conferred  with  them  all;  the 
Knight  of  the  Bleeding  Heart,  the  Knight  of  Roses,  the  Knight 
onhv-  Crystal  Shield. 

Endyniion,  who  was  not  to  be  a  knight,  but  a  gentleman-at- 
:  rms  in  attendance  on  the  Queen  of  the  Tournament,  mentioned 
that  Prince  Florestan  much  wished  to  be  a  jouster;  he  had 
heard  this  from  the  Duke  of  St.  Angelo,  and  Lady  Montfort, 


228  END  r MI  ON. 

though  she  did  not  immediately  sanction,  did  not  absolutely 
refuse,  the  request. 

Past  midnight  there  was  a  sudden  stir  in  the  saloons.  The 
House  of  Commons  had  broken  up  and  many  members  were 
entering.  There  had  been  a  division  on  the  Jamaica  question, 
and  the  ministers  had  only  a  majority  of  five.  The  leader  of 
the  House  of  Commons  had  intimated,  not  to  say  announced, 
their  consequent  resignation. 

"  Have  you  heard  what  they  say  ? "  said  Endymion  anxiously 
to  Lady  Montfort. 

"  Yes,  I  heard ;  but  do  not  look  so  grave." 

"  Do  I  look  grave? " 

"  As  if  it  were  the  last  dav." 

"  I  fear  it  is." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure.  I  doubt  whether  Sir  Robert  thinks  it 
ripe  enough;  and  after  all,  we  are  not  in  a  minority.  I  do  not 
see  why  we  should  have  resigned.  I  wish  I  could  see  Lord 
Roehampton." 

Affairs  did  not  proceed  so  rapidly  as  the  triumphant  Zeno- 
bia  expected.  They  were  out,  no  question  about  that;  but  it 
was  not  so  certain  who  was  in.  A  day  passed  and  another 
day,  and  even  Zenobia,who  knew  everything  before  anybody, 
remained  in  the  dark.  The  suspense  became  protracted  and 
even  more  mysterious.  Almost  a  week  had  elapsed;  noble 
lords  and  right  honorable  gentlemen  were  calling  on  Sir  Rob- 
ert every  morning,  according  to  the  newspapers,  but  no  one 
could  hear  from  any  authority  of  any  appointment  being  really 
made.  At  last,  there  was  a  whisper  very  late  one  night  at 
Crockford's,  which  was  always  better  informed  on  these  mat- 
ters than  the  political  clubs,  and  people  looked  amazed,  and 
stared  incredulously  in  each  other's  face.  But  it  was. true; 
there  was  a  hitch,  and  in  four-and-twenty  hours  the  cause  of 
the  hitch  was  known.  It  seemed  that  the  ministry  really  had 
resigned,  but  Berengaria,  Countess  of  Montfort,  had  not  fol- 
lowed their  example. 

What  a  dangerous  woman !  even  wicked !  Zenobia  was  for 
sending  her  to  the  Tower  at  once.  "  It  was  clearly  impossi- 
ble," she  declared,  "  for  Sir  Robert  to  carry  on  affairs  with 
such  a  Duchess  de  Longueville  always  at  the  ear  of  our  young 
queen,  under  the  pretence  forsooth  of  being  the  friend  of  her 
majesty's  own  youth." 


END  r MI  ON,  229 

This  was  the  famous  Bed-Chamber  Plot,  in  which  the  Con- 
servative leaders,  as  is  now  generally  admitted,  were  decidedly 
in  error,  and  which  terminated  in  the  return  of  the  Whigs  to 
office. 

"  But  we  must  reconstruct,"  said  Lady  Montfort  to  the 
prime  minister.  "  Sidney  Wilton  must  be  Secretary  of  State. 
And  you,"  she  said  to  Endymion,  when  she  communicated  to 
him  the  successful  result  of  her  interference,  "you  will  go  with 
him.  It  is  a  great  thing  at  your  age  to  be  private  secretary  to 
a  Secretary  of  State." 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

Montfort  Castle  was  the  stronghold  of  England  against 
the  Scotch  invader.  It  stood  on  a  high  and  vast  table-land, 
with  the  town  of  Montfort  on  one  side  at  its  feet,  and  on  the 
other  a  wide- spreading  and  sylvan  domain,  herded  with  deer 
of  various  races  and  terminating  in  pine  forests ;  beyond  them 
moors  and  mountains.  The  donjon  keep,  tall  and  gray,  that 
had  arrested  the  Douglas,  still  remained  intact,  and  many  an 
ancient  battlement;  but  the  long  list  of  the  Lords  of  Montfort 
had  successively  added  to  the  great  structure  according  to  the 
genius  of  the  times,  so  that  still,  with  the  external  appearance 
generally  of  a  feudal  castle,  it  combined  in  its  various  courts 
and  quadrangles  all  the  splendor  and  convenience  of  a  modern 
palace. 

But  though  it  had  witnessed  many  scenes  and  sights,  and  as 
strange  ones  as  any  old  walls  in  this  ancient  land,  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  the  keep  of  Montfort  ever  looked  down  on 
anything  more  rare  than  the  life  that  was  gathering  and  dis- 
porting itself  in  its  towers  and  halls,  and  courts  and  parks,  and 
forest  chase,  in  the  memorable  autumn  of  this  year. 

Berengaria  had  repaired  to  her  castle  full  of  triumph;  her 
lord,  in  high  good-humor,  admiring  his  wife  for  her  energy,  yet 
with  a  playful  malice  apparently  enjoying  the  opportunity  of 
showing  that  the  chronology  of  her  arrangements  was  confused 
and  her  costume  incorrect.  They  had  good-naturedly  taken 
Endymion  down  with  them,  for  travelling  to  the  Border  in 
those  times  was  a  serious  affair  for  a  clerk  in  a  public  office. 
Day  after  day  the  other  guests  arrived ;  the  rivals  in  the  tourney 


230  ENDTMION, 

were  among  the  earliest,  for  they  had  to  make  the  nisei  ves  ac- 
quainted with  the  land  which  was  to  be  the  scene  of  their  ex- 
ploits. There  came  the  Knights  of  the  Griffin,  and  the 
Dragon,  and  the  Black  Lion,  and  the  Golden  Lion,  and  the 
Dolphin,  and  the  Stag's  Head,  and  they  were  always  scrupu- 
lously addressed  by  their  chivalric  names,  instead  of  by  the 
Tommys  and  the  Jemmys  that  circulated  in  the  affectionate 
circle  of  White's,  or  the  Gusseys  and  the  Regys  of  Belgravian 
tea-parties.  After  a  time  duly  appeared  the  Knight  of  the 
White  Rose,  whose  armor  shielded  the  princely  form  of  Flore- 
stan ;  and  this  portion  of  the  company  was  complete  when  the 
Black  Knight  at  length  reached  the  castle,  who  had  been  de- 
tained by  his  attendance  on  a  conference  at  St.  James's,  in  the 
character  of  the  Count  of  Ferroll. 

If  anything  could  add  to  the  delight  and  excitement  of  Ber- 
engaria,  it  would  seem  to  be  the  arrival  of  the  Count  of 
Ferroll. 

Other  guests  gradually  appeared,  who  were  to  sustain  other 
characters  in  the  great  pageant.  There  was  the  Judge  of 
Peace,  and  the  Knight-marshal  of  the  Lists,  and  the  Jester,  who 
was  to  ride  on  a  caparisoned  mule  trapped  with  bells,  and  him- 
self bearing  a  sceptre.  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  came  down,  who 
had  promised  to  be  King  of  the  Tournament;  and,  though 
rather  late,  for  my  lord  had  been  detained  by  the  same  cause 
as  the  Count  of  Ferroll,  at  length  arrived  the  Queen  of  Beauty 
herself 

If  the  performance,  to  which  all  contagious  Britain  intended 
to  repair — for,  irrespective  of  the  railroads  which  now  began 
sensibly  to  affect  the  communications  in  the  north  of  England, 
steamers  were  chartering  from  every  port  for  passengers  to  the 
Montfort  Tournament  within  one  hundred  miles'  distance — 
were  equal  to  the  preparation,  the  affliir  must  be  a  grand  suc- 
cess. The  grounds  round  the  castle  seemed  to  be  filled  every 
day  with  groups  of  busy  persons  in  fanciful  costume,  all 
practicing  their  duties  and  rehearsing  their  parts;  swordsmen 
and  bowmen,  and  seneschals  and  esquires,  and  grooms,  and 
pages,  and  heralds  in  tabards,  and  pursuivants,  and  banner- 
bearers.  The  splendid  pavilions  of  the  knights  were  now 
completed,  and  the  gorgeous  throne  of  the  Queen  of  Beauty, 
surrounded  by  crimson  galleries,  tier  above  tier,  for  thousands 
of  favored  guests,  were  receiving  only  their  last  stroke  of  mag- 
nificence.    The  mornings  passed  in  a  feverish  whirl  of  curiosity, 


ENDTMION,  231 

and  preparation,  and  excitement,  and  some  anxiety.  Then 
succeeded  the  banquet,  where  nearly  one  hundred  guests  were 
every  day  present;  but  the  company  were  so  absorbed  in  the 
impending  event  that  none  expected  or  required,  in  the  even- 
ings, any  of  the  usual  schemes  or  sources  of  amusement  that 
abound  in  country  houses.  Comments  on  the  morning  and 
plans  for  the  morrow  engrossed  all  thought  and  conversation, 
and  my  lord's  band  was  just  a  due  accompaniment  that  filled 
the  pauses  when  perplexities  arrested  talk,  or  deftly  blended 
with  some  whispered  phrase  almost  as  sweet  or  thrilling  as  the 
notes  of  the  cornet-a-piston. 

"  I  owe  my  knighthood  to  you,"  said  Prince  Florestan  to 
Lady  Roehampton,  "  as  I  do  everything  in  this  country  that  is 
agreeable." 

"  You  cannot  be  my  knight,"  replied  Lady  Roehampton, 
"  because  I  am  told  I  am  the  sovereign  of  all  the  chivalry,  but 
you  have  my  best  wishes." 

"  All  that  I  want  in  life,"  said  the  prince,  "  are  your  good 
wishes." 

"  I  fear  they  are  barren." 

"  No,  they  are  inspiring,"  said  the  prince  with  unusual  feel- 
ing. "  You  brought  me  good  fortune.  From  the  moment  I 
saw  you  light  fell  upon  my  life." 

"  Is  not  that  an  exaggerated  phrase,"  said  Lady  Roehampton, 
with  a  smile,  "  because  I  happened  to  get  you  a  ticket  for  a 
masquerade  ? " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  something  else,"  said  the  prince,  pen- 
sively ;  "  but  life  is  a  masquerade — at  least  mine  has  been." 

"  I  think  yours,  sir,  is  a  most  interesting  life,"  said  Lady 
Roehampton;  "and  were  I  you,  I  would  not  quarrel  with  my 
destiny." 

"  My  destiny  is  not  fulfilled,"  said  the  prince.  "  I  have 
never  quarreled  with  it,  and  am  least  disposed  to  do  so  at  this 
moment." 

"  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  was  speaking  to  me  very  much  the 
other  day  about  your  royal  mother,  sir.  Queen  Agrippina. 
She  must  have  been  fascinating." 

"  I  like  fascinating  women,"  said  the  prince,  "  but  they  are 
rare." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  better  it  should  be  so,"  said  Lady  Roehamp- 
ton, "  for  they  are  apt — are  they  not  1 — to  disturb  the  world." 


232  ENDTMION, 

"  I  confess  I  like  to  be  bewitched,"  said  the  prince ;  "  and  I 
do  not  care  how  much  the  world  is  disturbed." 

"But  is  not  the  world  very  well  as  it  is?"  said  Lady  Roe- 
hampton.     "  Why  should  we  not  be  happy  and  enjoy  it?" 

"I  do  enjoy  it,"  replied  Prince  Florestan,  "especially  at 
Montfort  Castle;  I  suppose  there  is  something  in  the  air  that 
agrees  with  one.  But  enjoyment  of  the  present  is  consistent 
with  objects  for  the  future." 

"  Ah !  now  you  are  thinking  of  your  great  affairs — of  your 
kingdom.     My  woman's  brain  is  not  equal  to  that." 

"  I  think  your  brain  is  quite  equal  to  kingdoms,"  said  the 
prince,  with  a  serious  expression,  and  speaking  in  even  a  lower 
voice;  "but  I  was  not  thinking  of  my  kingdom;  I  leave  that 
to  fate.  I  believe  it  is  destined  to  be  mine,  and  therefore  it 
occasions  me  thought,  but  not  anxiety.  I  was  thinking  of 
something  else  than  kingdoms,  and  of  which  unhappily  I  am 
not  so  certain — of  which  I  am  most  uncertain — of  which  I 
fear  I  have  no  chance — and  yet  which  is  dearer  to  me  than 
even  my  crown." 

"  What  can  that  be?"  said  Lady  Roehampton,  with  unaffec- 
ted wonderment. 

"  'Tis  a  secret  of  chivalry,"  said  Prince  Florestan,  "  and  I 
must  never  disclose  it." 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  scene,**  said  Adriana  Neuchatel  to  Endy- 
mion,  who  had  been  for  some  time  conversing  with  her.  "  I 
had  no  idea  that  I  should  be  so  much  amused  by  anything  in 
society.     But  then  it  is  so  unlike  anything  one  has  ever  seen." 

Mrs.  Neuchatel  had  not  accompanied  her  husband  and  her 
daughter  to  the  Montfort  Tournament.  Mr.  Neuchatel  re- 
quired a  long  holiday,  and  after  the  tournament  he  was  to  take 
Adriana  to  Scotland.  Mrs.  Neuchatel  shut  herself  up  at  Hain- 
ault,  which  it  seemed  she  had  never  enjoyed  before.  She 
could  hardly  believe  it  was  the  same  place,  freed  from  its  daily 
invasions  by  the  House  of  Commons  and  the  Stock  Exchange. 
She  had  never  lived  so  long  without  seeing  an  ambassador  or 
a  cabinet  minister,  and  it  was  quite  a  relief.  She  wandered  in 
the  gardens  and  drove  her  pony-chair  in  forest  glades.  She 
missed  Adriana  very  much,  and  for  a  few  days  always  ex- 
pected her  to  enter  the  room  when  the  door  opened ;  and  then 
she  sighed,  and  then  she  flew  to  her  easel,  or  buried  herself  in 
some  sublime  cantata  of  her  favorite  master,  Beethoven.  Then 
came  the  most  wonderful  performance  of  the  whole  day,  and 


ENDTMION,  233 

that  was  the  letter — never  missed — to  Adriana.  Considering 
that  she  lived  in  solitude,  and  in  a  spot  with  which  her  daughter 
was  quite  familiar,  it  was  really  marvellous  that  the  mother 
should  every  day  be  able  to  fill  so  many  interesting  and  impas- 
sioned pages.  But  Mrs.  Neuchatel  was  a  fine  penwoman;  her 
feelings  were  her  facts,  and  her  ingenious  observations  of  art 
and  nature  were  her  news.  After  the  first  fever  of  separa- 
tion, reading  was  always  a  resource  to  her,  for  she  was  a  great 
student.  She  was  surrounded  by  all  the  literary  journals  and 
choice  publications  of  Europe,  and  there  scarcely  was  a  branch 
of  science  and  learning  with  which  she  was  not  sufficiently 
familiar  to  be  able  to  comprehend  the  stir  and  progress  of  the 
European  mind.  Mrs.  Neuchatel  had  contrived  to  get  rid  of 
the  chief  cook  by  sending  him  on  a  visit  to  Paris,  so  she  could 
without  cavil,  dine  oflf  a  cutlet  and  seltzer-water  in  her  boudoir. 
Sometimes,  not  merely  for  distraction,  but  more  from  a  sense  of 
duty,  she  gave  festivals  to  her  schools;  and  when  she  had  lived 
like  a  princely  prisoner  of  state  alone  for  a  month,  or  rather 
like  one  on  a  desert  isle  who  sighs  to  see  a  sail,  she  would  ask 
a  great  geologist  and  his  wife  to  pay  her  a  visit;  or  some  pro- 
fessor, who,  though  himself  not  worth  a  shilling,  had  some 
new  plans,  which  really  sounded  quite  practical,  for  the  more 
equal  distribution  of  wealth. 

"  And  who  is  your  knight?"  said  Endymion. 

Adriana  looked  distressed. 

"  I  mean  whom  do  you  wish  to  win  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  them  all  to  win! " 

"  That  is  good  natured,  but  then  there  would  be  no  distinc- 
tion. I  know  who  is  going  to  wear  your  colors — the  Knight 
of  the  Dolphin!" 

"  I  hope  nothing  of  that  kind  will  happen,"  said  Adriana, 
agitated.  "  I  know  that  some  of  the  knights  are  going  to  wear 
ladies'  colors,  but  I  trust  no  one  will  think  of  wearing  mine. 
I  know  the  Black  Knight  wears  Lady  Montfort's." 

"  He  cannot,"  said  Endymion,  hastily.  "  She  is  first  lady 
to  the  Queen  of  Beauty;  no  knight  can  wear  the  colors  of  the 
queen.  I  asked  Sir  Morte  d'Arthur  himself,  and  he  told  me 
there  was  no  doubt  about  it,  and  that  he  had  consulted  Garter 
before  he  came  down." 

"  Well,  all  I  know  is  that  the  Count  of  Ferroll  told  me  so," 
said  Adriana;  "  I  sat  next  to  him  at  dinner." 

"He   shall   not   wear   her   colors,"   said   Endymion,   quite 


234  ENDTMION. 

angrily.  "  I  will  speak  to  the  King  of  the  Tournament  about 
it  directly." 

"  Why,  what  does  it  signify  ?  "  said  Adriana. 

"  You  thought  it  signified  when  I  told  you  Regy  Sutton 
was  going  to  wear  your  colors." 

"  Ah !  that  is  quite  a  different  business,"  said  Adriana,  with  a 
sigh. 

Reginald  Sutton  was  a  professsd  admirer  of  Adriana,  rode 
with  her  whenever  he  could,  and  danced  with  her  immensely. 
She  gave  him  cold  encouragement,  though  he  was  the  best- 
looking  and  best-dressed  youth  in  England ;  but  he  was  a  de- 
termined young  hero,  not  gifted  with  too  sensitive  nerves,  and 
was  a  votary  of  the  great  theory  that  all  in  life  was  an  affair  of 
will,  and  that,  endowed  with  sufficient  energy,  he  might  marry 
whom  he  liked.  He  accounted  for  his  slow  advance  in  Lon- 
don by  the  inimical  presence  of  Mrs.  Neuchatel,  who  he  felt, 
or  fancied,  did  not  sympathize  with  him ;  while,  on  the  con- 
trary, he  got  on  very  well  with  the  father,  and  so  he  was  de- 
termined to  seize  the  present  opportunity.  The  mother  was 
absent  and  he  himself  in  a  commanding  position,  being  one  of 
the  knights  to  whose  exploits  the  eyes  of  all  England  were 
attracted. 

Lord  Roehampton  was  seated  between  an  ambassadress  and 
Berengaria,  indulging  in  gentle  and  sweet- voiced  raillery;  the 
Count  of  Ferroll  was  standing  beside  Lady  Montfort,  and  Mr. 
Wilton  was  opposite  to  the  group.  The  Count  of  Ferroll 
rarely  spoke,  but  listened  to  Lady  Montfort  with  what  she 
called  one  of  his  dark  smiles. 

"  All  I  know  is  she  will  never  pardon  you  for  not  asking 
hei,"  said  Lord  Roehampton.  "  I  saw  Bicester  the  day  I  left 
town,  and  he  was  very  grumpy.  He  said  that  Lady  Bicester 
was  the  only  person  who  understood  tournaments.  She  had 
studied  the  subject." 

"  I  suppose  she  wanted  to  be  the  Queen  of  Beauty,"  said 
Berengaria. 

"  You  are  too  severe,  my  dear  lady.  I  think  she  would  have 
been  contented  with  a  knight  wearing  her  colors." 

"  Well,  I  cannot  help  it,"  said  Berengaria,  but  somewhat 
doubtingly.  And  then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  She  is  too 
ugly." 

"  Why,  she  came  to  my  fancy  ball,  and  it  is  not  five  years 
ago,  as  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots ! " 


ENDTMION.  235 

"  That  must  have  been  after  the  queen's  decapitation,"  said 
Berengaria. 

"  I  wonder  you  did  not  ask  Zenobia."  said  Mr.  Wilton. 

"  Of  course  I  asked  her,  but  I  knew  she  would  not  come. 
She  is  in  one  of  her  hatreds  now.  She  said  she  would  have 
come,  only  she  had  half  promised  to  give  a  ball  to  the  tenants 
at  Merrington  about  that  time,  and  she  did  not  like  to  dissap- 
point  them.     Quite  touching,  was  it  not  ? " 

"A  touch  beyond  the  reach  of  art,"  said  Mr.  Wilton; 
"  almost  worthy  of  yourself.  Lady  Montfort." 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  all  this?"  asked  Lord  Montfort 
of  Nigel  Penruddock,  who,  in  a  cassock  that  swept  the  ground, 
had  been  stalking  about  the  glittering  saloons  like  a  prophet 
who  had  been  ordained  in  May  Fair,  but  who  had  now  seated 
himself  by  his  host. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  what  is  beneath  all  this,"  replied  Nigel. 
"  A  great  revivification.  Chivalry  is  the  child  of  the  Church; 
it  is  the  distinctive  feature  of  Christian  Europe.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  revival  of  Church  principles,  this  glorious  pageant 
would  never  have  occurred.  But  it  is  a  pageant  only  to  the 
uninitiated.  There  is  not  a  ceremony,  a  form,  a  phrase,  a 
costume,  which  is  not  symbolic  of  a  great  truth  or  a  high 
purpose." 

"  I  do  not  think  Lady  Montfort  is  aware  of  all  this,"  said 
her  lord. 

"  Oh  yes!"  said  Nigel.  "Lady  Montfort  is  a  great  woman 
— a  woman  who  could  inspire  crusades  and  create  churches. 
She  might,  and  she  will,  I  trust,  rank  with  the  Helenas  and 
the  Matildas." 

Lord  Montfort  gave  a  little  sound,  but  so  gentle  that  it  was 
heard  probably  but  by  himself,  which  in  common  language 
would  be  styled  a  whistle — an  inarticulate  modulation  of  the 
breath,  which,  in  this  instance,  expressed  a  sly  sentiment  of 
humorous  amazement. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Ferrars,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  with  a  laughing 
eye,  to  that  young  gentleman,  as  he  encountered  Endymion 
passing  by,  "  and  how  are  you  getting  on?  Are  we  to  see  you 
to-morrow  in  a  Milanese  suit?" 

"  I  am  only  a  page,"  said  Endymion. 

"  Well,  well,  the  old  Italian  saying  is,  *  A  page  beats  a 
knight,'  at  least  with  the  ladies." 

"  Do  not  you  think  it  very  absurd,"  said  Endymion, "  that 


236  .ENDTMION, 

the  Count  of  Ferroll  says  he  shall  wear  Lady  Montfort's 
colors?  Lady  Montfort  is  only  the  first  lady  of  the  Queen  of 
Beauty,  and  she  can  wear  no  colors  except  the  queen's.  Do 
not  you  think  somebody  ought  to  interfere  ?" 

"Hem!  The  Count  of  Ferroll  is  a  man  who  seldom  makes 
a  mistake,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel. 

"  So  everybody  says,"  said  Endymion,  rather  testily ;  "  but  I 
do  not  see  that." 

"  Now,  you  are  a  very  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel, 
"  and  I  hope  you  will  some  day  be  a  statesman.  I  do  not  see 
why  you  should  not,  if  you  are  industrious  and  stick  to  your 
master,  for  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  is  a  man  who  will  always  rise; 
but,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  keep  my  eyes  very  much  on  the 
Count  of  Ferroll;  for,  depend  on  it,  he  is  one  of  those  men 
who,  sooner  or  later,  will  make  a  noise  in  the  world." 

Adriana  came  up  at  this  moment,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the 
Knight  of  the  Dolphin,  better  known  as  Regy  Sutton.  The^ 
came  from  the  tea-room.  Endymion  moved  away  with  a 
cloud  on  his  brow,  murmuring  to  himself, "  I  am  quite  sick  of 
the  name  of  the  Count  of  Ferroll." 

The  jousting-ground  was  about  a  mile  from  the  castle,  and 
though  it  was  nearly  encircled  by  vast  and  lofty  galleries,  it 
was  impossible  that  accommodation  could  be  afforded  on  this 
spot  to  the  thousands  who  had  repaired  from  many  parts  o'f 
the  kingdom  to  the  Montfort  Tournament.  But  even  a  hun- 
dred thousand  people  could  witness  the  procession  from  the 
castle  to  the  scene  of  action.  That  was  superb.  The  sun 
shone,  and  not  one  of  the  breathless  multitude  was  disappointed. 

There  came  a  long  line  of  men-at  arms  and  musicians  and 
trumpeters  and  banner-bearers  of  the  Lord  of  the  Tournament, 
and  heralds  in  tabards,  and  pursuivants,  and  then  the  Herald 
of  the  Tournament  by  himself,  whom  the  people  at  first  mis- 
took for  the  lord  mayor. 

Then  came  the  Knight  Marshal  on  a  caparisoned  steed,  him- 
self in  a  suit  of  gilt  armor,  and  in  a  richly  embroidered  surcoat. 
A  band  of  halberdiers  preceded  the  King  of  the  Tournament, 
also  on  a  steed  richly  caparisoned,  and  himself  clad  in  robes  of 
velvet  and  ermine,  and  wearing  a  golden  crown. 

Then,  on  a  barded  Arab,  herself  dressed  in  cloth  of  gold, 
parti-colored  with  violet  and  crimson,  came,  amid  tremendous 
cheering,  the  Queen  of  Beauty  herself.      Twelve  attendants 


ENDTMION,  237 

bore  aloft  a  silken  canopy,  which  did  not  conceal  from  the  en- 
raptured multitude  the  lustre  of  her  matchless  loveliness.  Lady 
Montfort,  Adriana,  and  four  other  attendant  ladies,  followed 
her  majesty,  two  by  two,  each  in  gorgeous  attire,  and  on  a 
charger  that  vied  in  splendor  with  its  mistress.  Six  pages 
followed  next,  in  violet  and  silver. 

The  bells  of  a  barded  mule  announced  the  Jester,  who  waved 
his  sceptre  with  unceasing  authority,  and  pelted  the  people  with 
admirably  prepared  impromptus.  Some  irr  the  crowd  tried  to 
enter  into  a  competition  of  banter,  but  they  were  always  van- 
quished. 

Soon  a  large  company  of  men-at-arms  and  the  sounds  of 
most  triumphant  music  stopped  the  general  laughter,  and  all 
became  again  hushed  in  curious  suspense.  The  tallest  and  the 
stoutest  of  the  Border  men  bore  the  gonfalon  of  the  Lord  of 
the  Tournament.  That  should  have  been  Lord  Montfort  him- 
self; but  he  had  deputed  the  office  to  his  cousin  and  presump- 
tive heir.  Lord  Montfort  was  well  represented,  and  the  people 
cheered  his  cousin  Odo  heartily,  as  in  his  suit  of  golden  armor 
richly  chased,  and  bending  on  his  steed,  caparisoned  in  blue 
and  gold,  he  acknowledged  their  fealty  with  a  proud  reverence. 

The  other  knights  followed  in  order,  all  attended  by  their 
esquires  and  their  grooms.  Each  knight  was  greatly  ap- 
plauded, and  it  was  really  a  grand  sight  to  see  them  on  their 
barded  chargers  and  in  their  panoply;  some  in  suits  of  en- 
graved Milanese  armor,  some  in  German  suits  of  fluted  pol- 
ished steel ;  some  in  steel  armor  engraved  and  inlaid  with  gold. 
The  Black  Knight  was  much  cheered,  but  no  one  commanded 
more  admiration  than  Prince  Florestan,  in  a  suit  of  blue  dam- 
ascened armor,  and  inlaid  with  silver  roses. 

Every  procession  must  end.  It  is  a  pity,  for  there  is  nothing 
so  popular  with  mankind.  The  splendid  part  of  the  pageant 
had  passed,  but  still  the  people  gazed  and  looked  as  if  they 
would  have  gazed  forever.  The  visitors  at  the  castle,  all  in 
ancient  costume,  attracted  much  notice.  Companies  of  swords- 
men and  bowmen  followed,  till  at  last  the  seneschal  of  the  cas- 
tle, with  his  chamberlains  and  servitors,  closed  the  spell -bound 
scene. 


238  END  r MI  ON. 

CHAPTER  LX. 

The  jousting  was  very  successful;  though  some  were 
necessarily  discomfited,  almost  every  one  contrived  to  obtain 
some  distinction.  But  the  two  knights  who  excelled,  and  van 
quished  every  one  except  themselves,  were  the  Black  Knight 
and  the  Knight  of  the  White  Rose.  Their  exploits  were  equal 
at  the  close  of  the  first  day,  and  on  the  second  they  were  to 
contend  for  the  principal  prize  of  the  tournament,  for  which 
none  else  were  entitled  to  be  competitors.  This  was  a  golden 
helm,  to  be  placed  upon  the  victor's  brow  by  the  Queen  of 
Beauty. 

Tiiere  was  both  a  banquet  and  a  ball  on  this  day,  and  the 
excitement  between  the  adventures  of  the  morning  and  the 
prospects  of  the  morrow  was  great.  The  knights,  freed  from 
their  armor,  appeared  in  fanciful  dresses  of  many  colored  vel- 
vets. All  who  had  taken  part  in  the  pageant  retained  their 
costumes,  and  the  ordinary  guests,  if  they  yielded  to  mediaeval 
splendor,  successfully  asserted  the  taste  of  Paris  and  its  spark- 
ling grace  in  their  exquisite  robes  and  wreaths  and  garlands  of 
fantastic  loveliness. 

Berengaria,  full  of  the  inspiration  of  success,  received  the 
smiling  congratulations  of  everybody,  and  repaid  them  with 
happy  suggestions,  which  she  poured  forth  with  inexhaustible 
yet  graceful  energy.  The  only  person  who  had  a  gloomy  air 
was  Endymion.  She  rallied  him.  "I  shall  call  you  the 
Knight  of  the  Woeful  Countenance  if  you  approach  me  with 
such  a  visage.     What  can  be  the  matter  with  you  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Endymion,  in  a  tone  of  sullen  misery. 

"  There  is  something.  I  know  your  countenance  too  well  to 
be  deceived.     What  is  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing,"  repeated  Endymion,  looking  rather  away. 

The  Knight  of  the  Dolphin  came  up  and  said,  "  This  is  a 
critical  affair  to-morrow,  my  dear  Lady  Montfort.  If  the 
Count  of  Ferroll  is  discomfited  by  the  prince  it  may  be  a  casus 
belli.  You  ought  to  get  Lord  Roehampton  to  interfere  and 
prevent  the  encounter." 

"The  Count  of  Ferroll  will  not  be  discomfited,  said  Lady 
Montfort.     "  He  is  one  of  those  men  who  never  fail." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  Knight  of  the  Dolphin, 
musingly,     "  The  prince  has  a  stout  lance,  and  I  have  felt  it." 


END  r Ml  ON.  239 

"He  had  the  best  of  it  this  morning,"  said  Endymion,  rather 
bitterly.  "  Every  one  thought  so,  and  that  it  was  very  for- 
tunate for  the  Count  of  FerroU  that  the  heralds  closed  the'lists." 

"  It  might  have  been  fortunate  for  others,"  rejoined  Lady 
Montfort.  "What  is  the  general  opinion?"  she  added,  ad- 
dressing the  Knight  of  the  Dolphin.  "Do  not  go  away,  Mr. 
Ferrars.  I  want  to  give  you  some  directions  about  to-mor- 
row." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  be  at  the  place  to-morrow,"  mut- 
tered Endymion. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Berengaria;  but  at  this  moment  Mr. 
Sidney  Wilton  came  up  and  said,  "  I  have  been  looking  at  the 
golden  helm.  It  is  intrusted  to  my  care  as  King  of  the  Tourna- 
ment.    It  is  really,  so  beautiful  that  I  think  I  shall  usurp  it." 

"  You  will  have  to  settle  that  with  the  Count  of  Ferroll," 
said  Berengaria. 

"  The  betting  is  about  equal,"  said  the  Knight  of  the  Dol- 
phin. 

"  Well,  we  must  have  some  gloves  upon  it,"  said  Berengaria. 

Endymion  walked  away. 

He  walked  away,  and  the  first  persons  that  met  his  eye  were 
the  prince  and  the  Count  of  Ferroll  in  conversation.  It  was 
sickening.  They  seemed  quite  gay,  and  occasionally  examined 
together  a  paper  which  the  prince  held  in  his  hand,  and  which 
was  an  official  report  by  the  heralds  of  the  day's  jousting.  This 
friendly  conversation  might  apparently  have  gone  on  forever 
had  not  the  music  ceased  and  the  count  been  obliged  to  seek 
his  partner  for  the  coming  dance. 

"  I  wonder  you  can  speak  to  him,"  said  Endymion,  going  up 
to  the  prince.  "  If  the  heralds  had  not — many  think,  too 
hastily — closed  the  lists  this  morning,  you  would  have  been 
the  victor  of  the  day." 

"  My  dear  child !  what  can  you  mean  ? "  said  the  prince.  "  I 
believe  everything  was  closed  quite  properly,  and,  as  for  my- 
self, I  am  entirely  satisfied  with  my  share  of  the  day's  success." 

"  If  you  had  thrown  him,"  said  Endymion,  "  he  could  not 
with  decency  have  contended  for  the  golden  helm." 

"  Oh !  that  is  what  you  deplore,"  said  the  prince.  "  The 
Count  of  Ferroll  and  I  shall  have  to  contend  for  many  things 
more  precious  than  golden  helms  before  we  die." 

"  I  believe  he  is  a  very  over-rated  man,"  said  Endymion. 


240  ENDTMION, 

"  Why?"  said  the  prince. 

"  I  detest  him,"  said  Endymion. 

"  That  is  certainly  a  reason  why  you  should  not  over-rate 
him,"  said  the  prince. 

"  There  seems  a  general  conspiracy  to  run  him  up,"  said 
Endymion  with  pique. 

"  The  Count  of  Ferroll  is  the  man  of  the  future,"  said  the 
prince  calmly. 

"  That  is  what  Mr.  Neuchatel  said  to  me  yesterday.  I  sup- 
pose he  caught  it  from  you." 

"  It  is  an  advantage,  a  great  advantage,  for  me  to  observe 
the  Count  of  Ferroll  in  this  intimate  society,"  said  the  prince 
speaking  slowly,  "  perhaps  even  to  fathom  him.  But  I  am 
not  come  to  that  yet.  He  is  a  man  neither  to  love  nor  to  detest. 
He  has  himself  an  intelligence  superior  to  all  passion,  I 
might  say  all  feeling;  and  if,  in  dealing  with  such  a  being,  we 
ourselves  have  either,  we  give  him  an  advantage." 

"  Well,  all  the  same  I  hope  you  will  win  the  golden  helm 
to-morrow,"  said  Endymion  looking  a  little  perplexed. 

"  The  golden  casque  that  I  am  ordained  to  win,"  said  the 
prince,  "  is  not  at  Montfort  Castle.  This,  after  all,  is  but  Mam- 
brino's  helmet." 

A  knot  of  young  dandies  were  discussing  the  chances  of  the 
morrow  as  Endymion  was  passing  by,  and  as  he  knew  most  of 
them  he  joined  the  group. 

"  I  hope  to  heaven,"  said  one,  "  that  the  Count  of  Ferroll 
will  beat  that  foreign  chap  to-morrow;  I  hate  foreigners." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  a  second,  and  there  was  a  general  murmur 
of  assent. 

"  The  Count  of  Ferroll  is  as  much  a  foreigner  as  the  prince," 
said  Endymion  rather  sharply. 

"Oh!  I  don't  call  him  a  foreigner  at  all,"  said  the  first 
speaker.  "  He  is  a  great  favorite  at  White's;  no  one  rides  cross. 
country  like  him,  and  he  is  a  deuced  fine  shot  in  the  bargain." 

"  I  will  back  Prince  Florestan  against  him  either  in  field  or 
cover,"  said  Endymion. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  your  friend,"  said  the  young  gentle- 
man contemptuously,  "  so  I  cannot  bet." 

"  I  am  sure  your  friend.  Lady  Montfort,  my  dear  Dymy, 
will  back  the  Count  of  Ferroll,"  lisped  a  third  young 
gentleman. 


HNDTMION,  241 

This  completed  the  programme  of  mortification,  and  En- 
dymion  hot,  and  then  cold,  and  then  both  at  the  same  time, 
bereft  of  repartee,  and  wishing  the  earth  would  open  and 
Montfort  Castle  disappear  in  its  convulsed  bosom,  stole  silently 
away  as  soon  as  practicable,  and  wandered  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  music  and  the  bursts  of  revelry. 

These  conversations  had  taken  place  in  the  chief  saloon, 
which  was  contiguous  to  the  ball-room  and  which  was  nearly 
as  full  of  guests.  Endymion,  moving  in  the  opposite  direction, 
entered  another  drawing-room,  where  the  population  was 
sparse.  It  consisted  of  couples  apparently  deeply  interested  in 
each  other.  Some  faces  were  radiant,  and  some  pensive,  and 
a  little  agitated,  but  they  all  agreed  in  one  expression,  that 
they  took  no  interest  whatever  in  the  solitary  Endymion.  Even 
their  whispered  words  were  hushed  as  he  passed  by,  and  they 
seemed,  with  their  stony,  unsympathizing  glance,  to  look  upon 
him  as  upon  some  inferior  being  who  had  intruded  into  their 
paradise.  In  short,  Endymion  felt  all  that  embarrassment, 
mingled  with  a  certain  portion  of  self-contempt,  which  attends 
the  conviction  that  we  are  what  is  delicately  called  de  trop. 

He  advanced  and  took  refuge  in  another  room,  where  there 
was  only  a  single,  and  still  more  engrossed  pair;  but  this  was 
even  more  intolerable  to  him.  Shrinking  from  a  return  to  the 
hostile  chamber  he  had  just  left,  he  made  a  frantic  rush  forward 
with  affected  ease  and  alacrity,  and  found  himself  alone  in  the 
favorite  morning  room  of  Lady  Montfort. 

He  threw  himself  on  a  sofa  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hand,  and 
gave  a  sigh,  which  was  almost  a  groan.  He  was  sick  at  heart; 
his  extremities  were  cold,  his  brain  was  feeble.  All  hope,  and 
truly  all  thought  of  the  future,  deserted  him.  He  remembered 
only  the  sorrowful,  or  the  humiliating,  chapters  in  his  life.  He 
wished  he  had  never  left  Hurstley.  He  wished  he  had  been 
apprenticed  to  Farmer  Thornberry,  that  he  had  never  quitted 
his  desk  at  Somerset  House,  and  never  known  more  of  life 
than  Joe's  and  the  Divan.  All  was  vanity  and  vexation  of 
spirit.  He  contemplated  finishing  his  days  in  the  neighboring 
stream,  in  which,  but  a  few  days  ago,  he  was  bathing  in  health 
and  joy. 

Time  flew  on;  he  was  unconscious  of  its  course;  no  one 
entered  the  room,  and  he  wished  never  to  see  a  human  face 
again,  when  a  voice  sounded  and  he  heard  his  name. 

"Endymion  I" 


242  ENDTMTON. 

"He  looked  up;  it  was  Lady  Montfort.  He  did  not  speak, 
but  gave  her,  perhaps  unconsciously,  a  glance  of  reproach  and 
despair. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  she  said. 

"Nothing." 

"That^is  nonsense.  Something  must  have  happened.  I 
have  missed  you  so  long,  but  was  determined  to  find  you. 
Have  you  a  hjeadache  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Come  back;  come  back  with  me.  It  is  so  odd.  My  lord 
has  asked  for  you  twice." 

"  I  want  to  see  no  one." 

"  Oh !  but  this  is  absurd — and  on  a  day  like  this,  when  every- 
thing has  been  so  successful  and  every  one  is  so  happy." 

"  I  am  not  happy,  and  I  am  not  successful." 

"  You  perfectly  astonish  me,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "  I  shall 
begin  to  believe  that  you  have  not  so  sweet  a  temper  as*I  al- 
ways supposed." 

"  It  matters  not  what  my  temper  is." 

"  I  think  it  matters  a  great  deal.  I  like,  above  all  things,  to 
live  with  good-tempered  people." 

"  I  hope  you  may  not  be  disappointed.  My  temper  is  my 
own  affair,  and  I  am  content  always  to  be  alone." 

"  Why !  you  are  talking  nonsense,  Endymlon." 

"  Probably;  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  gifted.  I  am  not  one  of 
those  gentlemen  who  cannot  fail.  I  am  not  the  man  of  the 
future." 

"  Well !  I  never  was  so  surprised  in  my  life,"  exclaimed  Lady 
Montfort.  "  I  never  will  pretend  to  form  an  opinion  of  human 
character  again.  Now,  my  dear  Endymion,  rouse  yourself, 
and  come  back  with  me.  Give  me  your  arm.  I  cannot  stay 
another  moment;  I  dare  say  I  have  already  been  wanted  a 
thousand  times." 

"  I  cannot  go  back,"  said  Endymion ;  "  I  never  wish  to  see 
anybody  again.  If  you  want  an  arm,  there  is  the  Count  of 
Ferroll,  and  I  hope  you  may  find  he  has  a  sweeter  temper  than 
I  have." 

Lady  Montfort  looked  at  him  with  a  strange  and  startled 
glance.  It  was  a  mixture  of  surprise,  a  little  disdain,  some 
affection  blended  with  mockery.  And  then  exclaiming  "  Silly 
boy ! "  she  swept  out  of  the  room. 


ENDTMION,  243 


CHAPTER  LXL 

"  I  DO  not  14ke  the  prospect  of  affairs,"  said  Mr.  Sidney 
Wilton  to  Endymion  as  they  were  posting  up  to  London  from 
Montfort  castle;  a  long  journey,  but  softened  in  those  days  by 
many  luxuries,  and  they  had  much  to  talk  about. 

"  The  decline  of  the  revenue  is  not  fitful ;  it  is  regular.  Our 
people  are  too  apt  to  look  at  the  state  of  the  revenue  merely  in 
a  financial  point  of  vievs^.  If  a  surplus,  take  off  taxes;  if  a  de- 
ficiency, put  them  on.  But  the  state  of  the  revenue  should 
also  be  considered  as  the  index  of  the  condition  of  the  popu- 
lation. According  to  my  impression,  the  condition  of  the  peo- 
ple is  declining;  and  why?  because  they  are  less  employed. 
If  this  spreads,  they  will  become  discontented  and  disaffected, 
and#I  cannot  help  remembering  that,  if  they  become  trouble- 
sorne,  it  is  our  ofhce  that  will  have  to  deal  with  them." 

"  This  bad  harvest  is  a  great  misfortune,"  said  Endymion. 

"  Yes,  but  a  bad  harvest,  though  unquestionably  a  great, 
perhaps  the  greatest,  misfortune  for  this  country,  is  not  the 
entire  solution  of  our  difficulties — I  would  say,  our  coming 
difficulties.  A  bad  harvest  touches  the  whole  of  our  commer- 
cial system ;  it  brings  us  face  to  face  with  the  corn  laws.  I 
wish  our  chief  would  give  his  mind  to  that  subject.  I  believe 
a  moderate  fixed  duty  of  about  twelve  shillings  a  quarter 
would  satisfy  every  one,  and  nothing  then  could  shake  this 
country." 

Endymion  listened  with  interest  to  other  views  of  his  master, 
who  descanted  on  them  at  much  length.  Private  secretaries 
know  everything  about  their  chiefs,  and  Endymion  was  not 
ignorant  that  among  many  of  the  great  houses  of  the  Whig 
party,  and  indeed  among  the  bulk  of  what  was  called  "  the 
Liberal  "  party  generally,  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  was  looked  upon, 
so  far  as  economical  questions  were  concerned,  as  very  crotch- 
ety, indeed  a  dangerous  character.  Lord  Montfort  was  the 
only  magnate  who  was  entirely  opposed  to  the  corn  laws,  but 
then,  as  Berengaria  would  remark,  "  Simon  is  against  all  laws ; 
he  is  not  a  practical  man." 

Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  reverted  to  these  views  more  than  once 
in  the  course  of  their  journey.  "  I  was  not  alarmed  about  the 
Chartists  last  year.     Political  trouble   in  this  country  never 


244  END  r MI  ON, 

frightens  me.  Insurrections  and  riots  strengthen  an  English 
government;  they  gave  a  new  lease  even  to  Lord  Liverpool 
when  his  ministry  was  most  feeble  and  unpopular;  but  eco- 
nomical discontent  is  quite  another  thing.  The  moment  sedi- 
tion arises  from  taxation,  or  want  of  employment,  it  is  more 
dangerous  and  more  difficult  to  deal  with  in  this  country  than 
any  other." 

"  Lord  Roehampton  seemed  to  take  rather  a  sanguine  view 
of  the  situation  after  the  Bed-Chamber  business  in  the  spring," 
observed  Endymion  rather  in  an  inquiring  than  a  dogmatic 
spirit. 

"  Lord  Roehampton  has  other  things  to  think  of,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton.  "  He  is  absorbed,  and  naturally  absorbed,  in  his 
department,  the  most  important  in  the  state,  and  of  which  he  is 
master.  But  I  am  obliged  to  look  at  affairs  nearer  home. 
Now,  this  Anti-Corn-Law  League,  which  they  established  last 
year  at  Manchester,  and  which  begins  to  be  very  busy,  though 
nobody  at  present  talks  of  it,  is  in  my  mind  a  movement  which 
ought  to  be  watched.  I  tell  you  what;  it  occurred  to  me  more 
than  once  during  that  wondrous  pageant  that  we  have  just  now 
been  taking  part  in,  the  government  wants  better  information 
than  they  have  as  to  the  state  and  the  country,  the  real  feelings 
and  condition  of  the  bulk  of  the  population.  We  used  to  sneer 
at  the  Tories  for  their  ignorance  of  these  matters,  but,  after  all, 
we,  like  them,  are  mainly  dependent  on  quarter  sessions;  on 
the  judgment  of  a  lord-lieutenant,  and  the  statistics  of  a  bench 
of  magistrates.  It  is  true  we  have  introduced  into  our  sub- 
ordinate administration  at  Whitehall  some  persons  who  have 
obtained  the  reputation  of  distinguished  economists,  and  we 
allow  them  to  guide  us.  But  though  ingenious  men,  no  doubt, 
they  are  chiefly  bankrupt  tradesmen,  who,  not  having  been 
able  to  manage  their  own  affairs,  have  taken  upon  themselves 
to  advise  on  the  conduct  of  the  country — pedants  and  prigs  at 
the  best,  and  sometimes  impostors.  No;  this  wont  do.  It  is 
useless  to  speak  to  the  chief;  I  did  about  the  Anti-Corn-Law 
League;  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  it  was  a  madness 
that  would  pass.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  send  somebody, 
quite  privately,  to  the  great  scenes  of  national  labor.  He  must 
be  somebody  whom  nobody  knows,  and  nobody  suspects  of 
being  connected  with  the  administration,  or  we  shall  never  get 
the  truth — and  the  person  I  have  fixed  upon  is  yourself," 


ENDTMION.  245 

"  But  am  I  equal  to  such  a  task  ?"  said  Endy mion,  modestly, 
but  sincerely. 

"  1  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  or,  of  course,  I  would  not 
have  fixed  upon  you.  I  want  a  fresh  and  virgin  intelligence  to 
observe  and  consider  the  country.  It  must  be  a  mind  free 
from  prejudice,  yet  fairly  informed  on  the  great  questions  in- 
volved in  the  wealth  of  nations.  I  know  you  have  read  Adam 
Smith,  and  not  lightly.  Well,  he  is  the  best  guide,  though,  of 
course,  we  must  adapt  his  principles  to  the  circumstances  with 
which  we  have  to  deal.  You  have  good  judgment,  great  in- 
dustry, a  fairly  quick  perception,  little  passion,  perhajos  hardly 
enough;  but  that  is  probably  the  consequence  of  the  sorrows 
and  troubles  of  early  life.  But,  after  all,  there  is  no  education 
like  adversity." 

"  If  it  will  only  cease  at  the  right  time,"  said  Endymion. 

"  Well,  in  that  respect  I  do  not  think  you  have  anything  to 
complain  of,"  said  Mr.  W  ilton.  "  The  world  is  all  before  you, 
and  I  mistake  if  you  do  not  rise.  Perseverance  and  tact  are 
the  two  qualities  most  valuable  for  all  men  who  would  mount, 
but  especially  for  those  who  have  to  step  out  of  the  crowd.  I 
am  sure  no  one  can  say  you  are  not  assiduous,  but  I  am  glad 
always  to  observe  that  you  have  tact.  Without  tact  you  can 
learn  nothing.  Tact  teaches  you  when  to  be  silent.  Inquirers 
who  are  always  inquiring  never  learn  anything." 


24(5  ENDYMION. 


CHAPTER   LXII. 

Lancashire  was  not  so  wonderful  a  place  forty  years  ago  as 
it  is  at  present,  but,  compared  then  with  the  rest  of  England,  it 
was  infinitely  more  striking.  For  a  youth  like  Endymion — born 
and  bred  in  our  southern  counties,  the  Berkshire  downs  varied 
by  the  bustle  of  Pall  Mall  and  the  Strand — Lancashire,  with  its 
teeming  and  toiling  cities,  its  colossal  manufactories  and  its 
gigantic  chimneys,  its  roaring  engines  and  its  flaming  furnaces, 
its  tramroads  and  its  railroads,  its  coal  and  its  cotton,  offered  a 
far  greater  contrast  to  the  scenes  in  which  he  had  hitherto  lived 
than  could  be  furnished  by  almost  any  country  of  the  European 
continent. 

Endymion  felt  it  was  rather  a  crisis  in  his  life,  and  that  his 
future  might  much  depend  on  the  fulfillment  of  the  confidential 
office  which  had  been  intrusted  to  him  by  his  chief.  He  sum- 
moned all  his  energies,  concentrated  his  intelligence  on  the  one 
subject,  and  devoted  to  its  study  and  comprehension  every 
moment  of  his  thought  and  time.  After  a  while  he  had  made 
Manchester  his  headquarters.  It  was  even  then  the  centre  of  a 
network  of  railways,  and  gave  him  an  easy  command  of  the 
contiguous  districts. 

Endymion  had  more  than  once  inquired  after  the  Anti-Corn- 
Law  League,  but  had  not  as  yet  been  so  fortunate  as  to  attend 
any  of  their  meetings.  They  were  rarer  then  than  they  after- 
wards soon  became,  and  the  great  manufacturers  did  not  en- 
courage them.  "  I  do  not  like  extreme  views,"  said  one  of  the 
most  eminent,  one  day,  to  Endymion.  "  In  my  opinion,  we 
should  always  avoid  extremes;"  and  he  paused  and  looked 
around  as  if  he  had  enunciated  a  heaven-born  truth,  and  for  the 
first  time.  "  I  am  a  liberal ;  so  we  all  are  here.  I  supported 
Lord  Grey,  and  I  support  Lord  Melbourne,  and  I  am,  in  every- 
thing, for  a  liberal  policy.  I  don't  like  extremes.  A  wise  min- 
ister should  take  off  the  duty  on  cotton  and  wool.  That  is 
what  the  country  really  wants,  and  then  everybody  would  be 
satisfied.  No ;  I  know  nothing  about  this  league  you  ask  abgut, 
and  I  do  not  know  any  one — that  is  to  say,  any  one  respectable 
— who  does.  They  came  to  me  to  lend  my  name.  No,  I  said, 
gentlemen ;  I  feel  much  honored,  but  I  do  not  like  extremes ; 
and  they  went  away.  They  are  making  a  little  more  noise  now, 
because  they  have  got  a  man  who  has  the  gift  of  the  gab,  and 
the  people  like  to  go  and  hear  him  speak.     But,  as  I  said  to 


END  YM ION. 


m 


a  friend  of  mine  who  seemed  half  inclined  to  join  them,  '  Well, 
if  I  did  anything  of  that  sort  I  would  be  led  by  a  Lancashire 
lad.  They  have  got  a  foreigner  to  lead  them — a  fellow  out  of 
Berkshire — an  agitator ;  and  only  a  print-work,  after  all.  No, 
that  will  never  do.'  " 

Notwithstanding  these  views,  which  Endymion  found  very 
generally  entertained  by  the  new  world  in  which  he  mixed,  he 
resolved  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity  of  attending  the  meet- 
ing of  the  league,  and  it  soon  arrived. 

It  was  an  evening  meeting,  so  that  workmen — or  the  opera- 
tives, as  they  were  styled  in  this  part  of  the  kingdom — should  be 
able  to  attend.  The  assembly  took  place  in  a  large  but  tempo- 
rary building,  very  well  adapted  to  the  human  voice,  and  able 
to  contain  even  thousands.  It  was  fairly  full  to-night ;  and  the 
platform,  on  which  were  those  who  took  a  part  in  the  proceedings, 
or  who,  by  their  comparatively  influential  presence,  it  was  sup- 
posed might  assist  the  cause,  was  almost  crowded. 

"  He  is  going  to  speak  to-night,"  said  an  operative  to  Endy- 
mion.    "  That  is  why  there  is  such  an  attendance." 

Remembering  Mr.  Wilton's  hint  about  not  asking  unnecessary 
questions,  which  often  arrest  information,  Endymion  did  not 
inquire  who  "  he  "  was,  and,  to  promote  communication,  merely 
observed,  "  A  fine  speaker,  then,  I  conclude  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  is,  in  a  way,"  said  the  operative.  "  He  has  not  got 
Hollaballoo's  voice,  but  he  knows  what  he  is  talking  about.  I 
doubt  their  getting  what  they  are  after ;  they  have  not  the 
working-classes  with  them.  If  they  went  against  truck,  it  would 
be  something." 

The  chairman  opened  the  proceedings,  but  was  coldly 
received,  though  he  spoke  sensibly  and  at  some  length.  He 
then  introduced  a  gentleman,  who  was  absolutely  an  alderman, 
to  move  a  resolution  condemnatory  of  the  Corn  Laws.  The 
august  position  of  the  speaker  atoned  for  his  halting  rhetoric, 
and  a  city  which  had  only  just,  for  the  first  time,  been  invested 
with  municipal  privileges  was  hushed  before  a  man  who  might 
in  time  even  become  a  mayor. 

Then  the  seconder  advanced,  and  there  was  a  general  burst 
of  applause. 

"There  he  is,"  said  the  operative  to  Endymion;  "you  see 
they  like  him.     Oh,  Job  knows  how  to  do  it !  " 

Endymion  listened  with  interest,  soon  with  delight,  soon  with 
a  feeling  of  exciting  and  not  unpleasing  perplexity,  to  the  orator; 
for  he  was  an  orator,  though  then  unrecognized,  and  known  only 


248  ENDYMIOJSr. 

in  his  district.  He  was  a  pale  and  slender  man,  with  a  fine 
brow,  and  an  eye  that  occasionally  flashed  with  the  fire  of  a 
creative  mind.  His  voice  certainly  was  not  like  Hollaballoo's. 
It  was  rather  thin,  but  singularly  clear.  There  was  nothing 
clearer,  except  his  meaning.  Endymion  never  heard  a  case  stated 
with  such  pellucid  art;  facts  marshalled  with  such  vivid  sim- 
plicity, and  inferences  so  natural  and  spontaneous  and  irresisti- 
ble, that  they  seemed,  as  it  were,  borrowed  from  his  audience, 
though  none  of  that  audience  had  arrived  at  them  before.  The 
meeting  was  hushed,  was  rapt  in  intellectual  delight,  for  they 
did  not  give  the  speaker  the  enthusiasm  of  their  sympathy. 
That  was  not  shared,  perhaps,  by  the  moiety  of  those  who  list- 
ened to  him.  When  his  case  was  fairly  before  them,  the  speaker 
dealt  with  his  opponents  —  some  in  the  press,  some  in  Parlia- 
ment —  with  much  power  of  sarcasm ;  but  this  power  was  evi- 
dently rather  repressed  than  allowed  to  run  riot.  What  im- 
pressed Endymion  as  the  chief  quality  of  this  remarkable 
speaker  was  his  persuasiveness,  and  he  had  the  air  of  being  too 
prudent  to  offend  even  an  opponent  unnecessarily.  His  lan- 
guage, though  natural  and  easy,  was  choice  and  refined.  He 
was  evidently  a  man  who  had  read,  and  not  a  little  ;  and  there 
was  no  taint  of  vulgarity,  scarcely  a  provincialism,  in  his  pro- 
nunciation. 

He  spoke  for  rather  more  than  an  hour ;  and  frequently  during 
this  time  Endymion,  notwithstanding  his  keen  interest  in  what 
was  taking  place,  was  troubled,  it  might  be  disturbed,  by  pic- 
tures and  memories  of  the  past  that  he  endeavored  in  vain  to 
drive  away.  When  the  orator  concluded,  amid  cheering  much 
louder  than  that  which  at  first  greeted  him,  Endymion,  in  a 
rather  agitated  voice,  whispered  to  his  neighbor,  "Tell  me  —  is 
his  name  Thornberry.?  " 

"  That  is  your  time  of  day,"  said  the  operative.  "  Job  Thorn- 
berry  is  his  name,  and  I  am  on  his  works." 

"  And  yet  you  do  not  agree  with  him  }  " 

"  Well,  I  go  as  far  as  he  goes,  but  he  does  not  go  as  far  as  I 
go;  that's  it." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  a  man  can  go  much  farther,"  said  Endy- 
mion. "  Where  are  his  works  }  I  knew  your  master  when  he 
was  in  the  south  of  England-,  and  should  like  to  call  on  him." 

"  My  employer,"  said  the  operative.  "  They  call  themselves 
masters,  but  we  do  not.  I  will  tell  you.  His  works  are  a  mile 
out  of  town ;  but  it  seems  only  a  step,  for  there  are  houses  all 
the  way.      Job    Thornberry   &   Co.'s    Print-works,  Pendleton 


END  YM ION  249 

Road  —  any  one  can  guide  you  —  and  when  you  get  there  you 
can  ask  for  me,  if  you  like.  I  am  his  overlooker,  and  my  name 
is  Enoch  Craggs." 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

"You  are  not  much  altered,"  said  Thornberry,  as  he  retained 
Endymion's  hand,  and  he  looked  at  him  earnestly;  "and  yet 
you  have  become  a  man.  I  suppose  I  am  ten  years  your  senior. 
I  have  never  been  back  to  the  old  place,  and  yet  I  sometimes 
think  I  should  like  to  be  buried  there.  The  old  man  has  been 
here,  and  more  than  once,  and  liked  it  well  enough  —  at  least,  I 
hope  so.  He  told  me  a  good  deal  about  you  all  —  some  sor- 
rows and,  I  hope,  some  joys.  I  heard  of  Miss  Myra's  marriage. 
She  was  a  sweet  young  lady ;  the  gravest  person  I  ever  knew ; 
I  never  knew  her  smile.  I  remember  they  thought  her  proud, 
but  I  always  had  a  fancy  for  her.  Well  she  has  married  a  top- 
sawyer —  I  believe,  the  ablest  of  them  all,  and  probably  the 
most  unprincipled ;  though  I  ought  not  to  say  that  to  you. 
However,  public  men  are  freely  spoken  of.  I  wish  to  heaven 
you  would  get  him  to  leave  off  tinkering  those  commercial  trea- 
ties that  he  is  always  making  such  a  fuss  about.  More  perni- 
cious nonsense  was  never  devised  by  man  than  treaties  of  com- 
merce. However,  their  precious  most  favored  nation  clause 
will  break  down  the  whole  concern  yet.  But  you  wish  to  see 
the  works;  I  will  show  them  to  you  myself.  There  is  not  much 
going  on  now,  and  the  stagnation  increases  daily.  And  then, 
if  you  are  willing,  we  will  go  home  and  have  a  bit  of  lunch  — 
I  live  hard  by.  My  best  works  are  my  wife  and  children :  I 
have  made  that  joke  before,  as  you  can  well  fancy." 

This  was  the  greeting,  sincere  but  not  unkind,  of  Job  Thorn- 
berry  to  Endymion,  on  the  day  after  the  meeting  of  the  Anti- 
Corn-Law  League.  To  Endymion  it  was  an  interesting  and,  as 
he  believed  it  would  prove,  a  useful  encounter. 

The  print-works  were  among  the  most  considerable  of  their 
kind  at  Manchester,  but  they  were  working  now  with  reduced 
numbers  and  at  half  time.  It  was  the  energy  and  the  taste 
and  invention  of  Thornberry  that  had  given  them  their  reputa- 
tion and  secured  them  extensive  markets.  He  had  worked 
with  borrowed  capital,  but  had  paid  off  his  debt,  and  his  estab- 
lishment was  now  his  own  ;  but,  stimulated  by  his  success,  he 
had  made   a  consignment  of   a    large   amount   to   the  United 


aso  ENDYMION. 

States,  where  it  arrived  only  to  be  welcomed  by  what  was 
called  the  American  crash. 

Turning  from  the  high-road,  a  walk  of  half  a  mile  brought 
them  to  a  little  world  of  villas ;  varying  in  style  and  size,  but 
all  pretty,  and  each  in  its  garden.  ''And  this  is  my  home,"  said 
Thornberry,  opening  the  wicket,  "and  here  is  my  mistress  and 
the  young  folks  —  pointing  to  a  pretty  woman,  but  with  an  ex- 
pression of  no  inconsiderable  self-confidence,  and  with  several 
children  clinging  to  her  dress  and  hiding  their  faces  at  the  unex- 
pected sight  of  a  stranger.  "  My  eldest  is  a  boy,  but  he  is  at 
school."  said  Thornberry.  "I  have  named  him,  after  one  of 
the  greatest  men  that  ever  lived,  John  Hampden." 

"  He  was  a  landed  proprietor,"  observed  Endymion,  rather 
dryly;  "  and  a  considerable  one." 

"I  have  brought  an  old  friend  to  take  cheer  with  us,"  contin- 
ued Thornberry;  "one  whom  I  knew  before  any  here  present; 
so  show  your  faces,  little  people;"  and  he  caught  up  one  of  the 
children,  a  fair  child  like  its  mother,  long-haired  and  blushing 
like  a  Worcestershire  orchard  before  harvest  time.  "  Tell  the 
gentleman  what  you  are." 

"A  free-trader,"  murmured  the  infant. 

Within  the  house  were  several  shelves  of  books  well  selected, 
and  the  walls  were  adorned  with  capital  prints  of  famous  works 
of  art.  "They  are  chiefly  what  are  called  books  of  reference," 
said  Thornberry,  as  Endymion  was  noticing  his  volumes ;  "  but 
I  have  not  much  room,  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  they  are  not 
merely  books  of  reference  to  me  —  I  like  reading  encyclo- 
paedias. The  '  Dictionary  of  Dates  '  is  a  favorite  book  of  mine. 
The  mind  sometimes  wants  tone,  and  then  I  read  Milton.  He 
is  the  only  poet  I  read  —  he  is  complete,  and  is  enough.  I 
have  got  his  prose  works  too.  Milton  was  the  greatest  of 
Englishmen." 

The  repast  was  simple,  but  plenteous,  and  nothing  could  be 
neater  than  the  manner  in  which  it  was  served. 

"We  are  teetotalers,"  said  Thornberry;  "but  we  can  give  you 
a  good  cup  of  coffee." 

"  I  am  a  teetotaler,  too,  at  this  time  of  the  day,"  said  Endy- 
mion ;  "  but  a  good  cup  of  coffee  is,  they  say,  the  most  delicious 
and  the  rarest  beverage  in  the  world." 

"  Well,"  continued  Thornberry ;  "  it  is  a  long  time  since  we 
met,  Mr.  Ferrars  —  ten  years.  I  used  to  think  that  in  ten  years 
one  might  do  anything;  and  a  year  ago  I  really  thought  I  had 
done  it;  but  the  accursed  laws  of  this  blessed  country,  as  it 


END  YM ION.  as  I 

calls  itself,  have  nearly  broken  me,  as  they  have  broken  many  a 
better  man  before  me." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  this,"  said  Endymion ;  "I  trust  it  is  but 
a  passing  cloud." 

"  It  is  not  a  cloud,"  said  Thornberry ;  "  it  is  a  storm,  a  tem- 
pest, a  wreck  —  but  not  only  for  me.  Your  great  relative,  my 
Lord  Roehampton,  must  look  to  it,  I  can  tell  you  that.  What 
is  happening  in  this  country,  and  is  about  to  happen,  will  not 
be  cured  or  averted  by  commercial  treaties  —  mark  my  words." 

"  But  what  would  cure  it }  "  said  Endymion. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  that  can  cure  this  country,  and  it 
will  soon  be  too  late  for  that.    We  must  have  free  exchange." 

"  Free  exchange !  "  murmured  Endymion,  thoughtfully. 

"Why,  look  at  this,"  said  Thornberry.  "I  had  been  driving 
a  capital  trade  with  the  States  for  nearly  five  years.  I  began 
with  nothing,  as  you  know.  I  had  paid  off  all  my  borrowed 
capital ;  my  works  were  my  own,  and  this  house  is  a  freehold. 
A  year  ago  I  sent  to  my  correspondent  at  New  York  the  largest 
consignment  of  goods  I  had  ever  made,  and  the  best,  and  I 
cannot  get  the  slightest  return  for  them.  My  correspondent 
writes  to  me  that  there  is  no  end  of  corn  and  breadstuff's  which 
he  could  send,  if  we  could  only  receive  them ;  but  he  knows 
very  well  he  might  as  well  try  and  send  them  to  the  moon.  The 
people  here  are  starving  and  want  these  breadstuffs,  and  they 
are  ready  to  pay  for  them  by  the  products  of  their  labor — and 
your  blessed  laws  prevent  them  !  " 

"But  these  laws  did  not  prevent  your  carrying  on  a  thriving 
trade  with  America  for  five  years,  according  to  your  own  ac- 
count," said  Endymion.  "I  do  not  question  what  you  say;  I 
am  asking  only  for  information." 

"  What  you  say  is  fairly  said,  and  it  has  been  said  before," 
replied  Thornberry;  "but  there  is  nothing  in  it.  We  had  a 
trade,  and  a  thriving  trade,  with  the  States ;  though,  to  be  sure, 
it  was  always  fitful,  and  ought  to  have  been  ten  times  as  much, 
even  during  those  five  years.  But  the  fact  is,  the  state  of  affairs 
in  America  was  then  exceptional.  They  were  embarked  in 
great  public  works  in  which  every  one  was  investing  his  capital; 
shares  and  stocks  abounded,  and  they  paid  us  for  our  goods 
with  them." 

"Then  it  would  rather  seem  that  they  have  no  capital  now  to 
spare  to  purchase  our  goods.?" 

"  Not  so,"  said  Thornberry,  sharply,  "  as  I  have  shown ;  but 
were  it  so,  it  does  not  affect  my  principle.     If  there  were  free 


25«  ENDYMION. 

exchange,  we  should  find  employment  and  compensation  in 
other  countries,  even  if  the  States  were  logged,  which  I  don't 
believe  thirty  millions  of  people  with  boundless  territory  ever 
can  be." 

"But  after  all,"  said  Endymion,  "America  is  as  little  in  favor 
of  free  exchange  as  we  are.  She  may  send  us  her  breadstuffs; 
but  her  laws  will  not  admit  our  goods  except  on  the  payment  of 
enormous  duties." 

"  Pish  !  "  said  Thornberry ;  "  I  do  not  care  this  for  their  enor- 
mous duties.  Let  me  have  free  imports,  and  I  will  soon  settle 
their  duties." 

"  To  fight  hostile  tariffs  with  free  imports,"  said  Endymion ; 
"is  not  that  fighting  against  odds.-* " 

"  Not  a  bit.  This  country  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  consider 
its  imports.  Foreigners  will  not  give  us  their  products  for 
nothing;  but  as  for  their  tariffs,  if  we  were  wise  men,  and 
looked  to  our  real  interests,  their  hostile  tariffs,  as  you  call 
them,  would  soon  be  falling  down  like  an  old  wall." 

"Well,  I  confess,"  said  Endymion,  "I  have  for  some  time 
thought  the  principle  of  free  exchange  was  a  sound  one;  but 
its  application  in  a  country  like  this  would  be  very  difficult, 
and  require,  I  should  think,  great  prudence  and  moderation." 

"  By  prudence  and  moderation  you  mean  ignorance  and 
timidity,"  said  Thornberry,  scornfully. 

"Not  exactly  that,  I  hope,"  said  Endymion;  "but  you  can- 
not deny  that  the  home  market  is  a  most  important  element  in 
the  consideration  of  our  public  wealth,  and  it  mainly  rests  upon 
the  agriculture  of  the  country." 

"  Then  it  rests  upon  a  very  poor  foundation,"  said  Thorn- 
berry. "  But  if  any  persons  should  be  more  tempted  than 
others  by  free  exchange,  it  should  be  the  great  body  of  the 
consumers  of  this  land,  who  pay  unjust  and  excessive  prices 
for  every  article  they  require.  No,  my  dear  Mr.  Ferrars ;  the 
question  is  a  very  simple  one,  and  we  may  talk  forever,  and  we 
shall  never  alter  it.  The  laws  of  this  country  are  made  by  the 
proprietors  of  land,  and  they  make  them  for  their  own  benefit. 
A  man  with  a  large  estate  is  said  to  have  a  great  stake  in  the 
country  because  some  hundreds  of  people  or  so  are  more  or 
less  dependent  on  him.  How  has  he  a  greater  interest  in  the 
country  than  a  manufacturer  who  has  sunk  ^^100,000  in  ma- 
chinery, and  has  a  thousand  people,  as  I  had,  receiving  from 
him  weekly  wages  .'*  No  home  market,  indeed  !  Pah  !  it  is  an 
affair  of  rent,  and  nothing  more  nor  less.     And  England  is  to 


ENDYMION.  253 

be  ruined  to  keep  up  rents.  Are  you  going  ?  Well,  I  am  glad 
we  have  met.  Perhaps  we  shall  have  another  talk  together 
some  day,  I  shall  not  return  to  the  works.  There  is  little 
doing  there,  and  I  must  think  now  of  other  things.  The  sub- 
scriptions to  the  league  begin  to  come  in  apace.  Say  what  they 
like  in  the  House  of  Commons  and  the  vile  London  press,  the 
thing  is  stirring." 

Wishing  to  turn  the  conversation  a  little,  Endymion  asked 
Mrs.  Thornberry  whether  she  occasionally  went  to  London. 

"  Never  was  there,"  she  said,  in  a  sharp,  clear  voice  !  "  but  I 
hope  to  go  soon." 

"  You  will  have  a  great  deal  to  see." 

"All  I  want  to  see,  and  hear,  is  the  Rev.  Servetus  Frost," 
replied  the  lady.  "  My  idea  of  perfect  happiness  is  to  hear 
him  every  Sunday.  He  comes  here  sometimes,  for  his  sister  is 
settled  here  ;  a  very  big  mill.  He  preached  here  a  month  ago. 
Should  I  not  have  liked  the  bishop  to  have  heard  him,  that's 
all !  But  he  would  not  dare  to  go ;  he  could  not  answer  a 
point." 

"  My  wife  is  of  the  Unitarian  persuasion,"  said  Thornberry. 
"  I  am  not.  I  was  born  in  our  Church,  and  I  keep  to  it ;  but  I 
often  go  to  chapel  with  my  wife.  As  for  religion  generally,  if  a 
man  believe  in  his  Maker  and  does  his  duty  to  his  neighbor,  in 
my  mind  that  is  sufficient." 

Endymion  bade  them  good-bye  and  strolled  musingly  toward 
his  hotel. 

Just  as  he  reached  the  works  again,  he  encountered  Enoch 
Craggs,  who  was  walking  into  Manchester. 

"  I  am  going  to  our  institute,"  said  Enoch.  "  I  do  not  know- 
why,  but  they  have  put  me  on  the  committee." 

"  And,  I  doubt  not,  they  did  very  wisely,"  said  Endymion. 

"  Master  Thornberry  was  glad  to  see  you.?  "  said  Enoch. 

"And  I  was  glad  to  see  him." 

"  He  has  got  the  gift  of  speech,"  said  Enoch. 

"  And  that  is  a  great  gift." 

"  If  wisely  exercised,  and  I  will  not  say  he  is  not  exercising 
it  wisely.  Certainly  for  his  own  purpose,  but  whether  that  pur- 
pose is  for  the  general  good  —  query.?" 

"  He  is  against  monopoly,"  observed  Emdymion,  inquiringly. 

"  Query  again  .? "  said  Enoch. 

"Well;  he  is  opposed  to  the  corn  laws." 

"The  corn  laws  are  very  bad  laws,"  said  Enoch,  "and  the 


254  END  YM TON, 

sooner  we  get  rid  of  them  the  better.  But  there  are  worse 
things  than  the  corn  laws." 

"  Hem !  "  said  Endymion. 

"There  are  the  money  laws,"  said  Enoch. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  cared  so  much  about  them  at  Manches- 
ter," said  Endymion.  "  I  thought  it  was  Birmingham  that  was 
chiefly  interested  about  currency." 

"  I  do  not  care  one  jot  about  currency, '^  said  Enoch ;  "  and,  so 
far  as  I  can  judge,  the  Birmingham  chaps  talk  a  deal  of  non- 
sense about  the  matter.  Leastwise,  they  will  never  convince 
me  that  a  strip  of  irredeemable  paper  is  as  good  as  the  young 
queen's  head  on  a  twenty-shilling  piece.  I  mean  the  laws  that 
secure  the  accumulation  of  capital,  by  which  means  the  real 
producers  become  mere  hirelings,  and  really  are  little  better 
than  slaves." 

"  But  surely  without  capital  we  should  all  of  us  be  little  bet- 
ter than  slaves." 

"I  am  not  against  capital,"  replied  Enoch.  "What  I  am 
against  is  capitalists." 

"  But  if  we  get  rid  of  capitalists  we  shall  soon  get  rid  of  capital." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Enoch,  with  his  broad  accent,  shaking  his 
head,  and  with  a  laughing  eye.  "  Master  Thornberry  has  been 
telling  you  that.  He  is  the  most  inveterate  capitalist  of  the 
whole  lot ;  and  I  always  say,  though  they  keep  aloof  from  him 
at  present,  they  will  be  all  sticking  to  his  skirts  before  long. 
Master  Thornberry  is  against  the  capitalists  in  land ;  but  there 
are  other  capitalists  nearer  home,  and  I  know  more  about  them. 
I  was  reading  a  book  the  other  day  about  King  Charles — Charles 
the  First,  whose  head  they  cut  off —  I  am  very  liking  to  that 
time,  and  read  a  good  deal  about  it ;  and  there  was  Lord  Falk- 
land, a  great  gentleman  in  those  days,  and  he  said,  when  Arch- 
bishop Laud  was  trying  on  some  of  his  priestly  tricks,  that  '  if 
he  were  to  have  a  pope,  he  would  rather  the  pope  were  at  Rome 
than  at  Lambeth.'  So  I  sometimes  think,  if  we  are  to  be 
ruled  by  capitalists,  I  would  sooner,  perhaps,  be  ruled  by  gen- 
tlemen of  estate,  who  have  been  long  among  us,  than  by  persons 
who  build  big  mills,  who  come  from  God  knows  whence,  and 
when  they  have  worked  their  millions  out  of  our  flesh  and  bone, 
go  God  knows  where.  But  perhaps  we  shall  get  rid  of  them  all 
some  day  —  landlords  and  mill-lords." 

"And  whom  will  you  substitute  for  them .?  " 

"The  producers,"  said  Enoch,  with  a  glance  half  savage,  half 
triumphant. 


ENDYMT03r,  ^^^ 

"  What  can  workmen  do  without  capital  ?  " 

"  Why,  they  make  the  capital,"  said  Enoch  ;  "  and  if  they  make 
the  capital,  is  it  not  strange  that  they  should  not  be  able  to  con- 
trive some  means  to  keep  the  capital?  Why,  Job  was  saying 
the  other  day  that  there  was  nothing  like  a  principle  to  work 
upon.  It  would  carry  all  before  it.  So  say  I.  And  I  have  a 
principle,  too,  though  it  is  not  Master  Thornberry's.  But  it 
will  carry  all  before  it,  though  it  may  not  be  in  my  time.  But 
I  am  not  so  sure  of  that." 

"  And  what  is  it }  "  asked  Endymion. 

"  Cooperation." 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 

This  strangely  revived  acquaintance  with  Job  Thornberry 
was  not  an  unfruitful  incident  in  the  life  of  Endymion.  Thorn- 
berry  was  a  man  of  original  mind  and  singular  energy;  and, 
although  of  extreme  views  on  commercial  subjects,  all  his  con- 
clusions were  founded  on  extensive  and  various  information, 
combined  with  no  inconsiderable  practice.  The  mind  of  Thorn- 
berry  was  essentially  a  missionary  one.  He  was  always  ready 
to  convert  people ;  and  he  acted  with  ardor  and  interest  on  a 
youth  who,  both  by  his  ability  and  his  social  position,  was 
qualified  to  influence  opinion.  But  this  youth  was  gifted  with 
a  calm,  wise  judgment,  of  the  extent  and  depth  of  which  he 
was  scarcely  conscious  himself;  and  Thornberry,  like  all  prop- 
agandists, was  more  remarkable  for  his  zeal  and  his  convictions 
than  for  that  observation  and  perception  of  character  which  are 
the  finest  elements  in  the  management  of  men  and  affairs. 

"  What  you  should  do,"  said  Thornberry  one  day  to  Endy- 
mion, "is  to  go  to  Scotland;  go  to  the  Glasgow  district;  that 
city  itself,  and  Paisley,  and  Kilmarnock  —  keep  your  eye  on 
Paisley.  I  am  much  mistaken  if  there  will  not  soon  be  a  state 
of  things  there  which  alone  will  break  up  the  whole  concern. 
It  will  burst  it,  sir;  it  will  burst  it." 

So  Endymion,  without  saying  anything,  quietly  went  to  Glas- 
gow and  its  district,  and  noted  enough  to  make  him  resolve 
soon  to  visit  there  again ;  but  the  cabinet  reassembled  in  the 
early  part  of  November,  and  he  had  to  return  to  his  duties. 

In  his  leisure  hours,  Endymion  devoted  himself  to  the  prepara- 
tion of  a  report,  for  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  on  the  condition  and 
prospects  of  the  manufacturing  districts  of  the  north  of  England, 


256  END  YMION. 

with  some  illustrative  reference  to  that  of  the  country  beyond 
the  Tweed.  He  concluded  it  before  Christmas,  and  Mr.  Wilton 
took  it  down  with  him  to  Gaydene,  to  study  it  at  his  leisure. 
Endymion  passed  his  holidays  with  Lord  and  Lady  Montfort, 
at  their  southern  seat,  Princedown. 

Endymion  spoke  to  Lady  Montfort  a  little  about  his  labors, 
for  he  had  no  secrets  from  her;  but  she  did  not  much  sympa- 
thize with  him,  though  she  liked  him  to  be  sedulous  and  to  dis- 
tinguish himself.  "Only,"  she  observed,  "take  care  not  to  be 
doctrinaire^  Endymion.  I  am  always  afraid  of  that  with  you. 
It  is  Sidney's  fault ;  he  always  was  doctrinaire.  It  was  a  great 
thing  for  you  becoming  his  private  secretary ;  to  be  the  private 
secretary  of  a  cabinet  minister  is  a  real  step  in  life,  and  I  shall 
always  be  most  grateful  to  Sidney,  whom  I  love  for  appointing 
you ;  but  still,  if  I  could  have  had  my  wish,  you  should  have 
been  Lord  Roehampton's  private  secretary.  That  is  real  poli- 
tics, and  he  is  a  real  statesman.  You  must  not  let  Mr.  Wilton 
mislead  you  about  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  cabinet.  The  cabi- 
net consists  of  a  prime-minister  and  Lord  Roehampton,  and  if 
they  are  united,  all  the  rest  is  vapor.  And  they  will  not  consent 
to  any  nonsense  about  touching  the  corn  laws ;  you  may  be  sure 
of  that.  Besides,  I  will  tell  you  a  secret,  which  is  not  yet  Pulch- 
inello's  secret,  though  I  dare  say  it  will  be  known  when  we  all 
return  to  town  —  we  shall  have  a  great  event  when  Parliament 
meets  — a  royal  marriage.  What  think  you  of  that }  The  young 
queen  is  going  to  be  married,  and  to  a  young  prince,  like  a  prince 
in  a  fairy  tale.  As  Lord  Roehampton  wrote  to  me  this  morning, 
*  Our  royal  marriage  will  be  much  more  popular  than  the  Anti- 
Corn-Law  League.' " 

The  royal  marriage  was  very  popular;  but,  unfortunately,  it 
reflected  no  splendor  on  the  ministry.  The  world  blessed  the 
queen  and  cheered  the  prince,  but  shook  its  head  at  the  govern- 
ment. Sir  Robert  Peel  also  —  whether  from  his  own  motive  or 
the  irresistible  impulse  of  his  party,  need  not  now  be  inquired 
into  —  sanctioned  a  direct  attack  on  the  government  in  the 
shape  of  a  vote  of  want  of  confidence  in  them,  immediately,' 
the  court  festivities  were  over,  and  the  attack  was  defeated  by  a 
narrow  majority. 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  unprincipled,"  said  Berengaria,  "after 
he  had  refused  to  take  office  last  year.  As  for  our  majority,  it 
is,  under  such  circumstances,  twenty  times  more  than  we  want. 
As  Lord  Roehampton  says,  one  is  enough."    - 

Trade  and  revenue  continued  to  decline.     There  was  again 


ENDYMION.  257 

the  prospect  of  a  deficiency.  The  ministry,  too,  was  kept  in  by 
the  Irish  vote,  and  the  Irish  then  were  very  unpopular.  The 
cabinet  itself  generally  was  downcast,  and  among  themselves 
Occasionally  murmured  a  regret  that  they  had  not  retired  when 
the  opportunity  offered  in  the  preceding  year.  Berengaria, 
however,  would  not  bate  an  inch  of  confidence  and  courage. 
"You  think  too  much,"  she  said  to  Endymion,  "of  trade  and 
finance.  Trade  always  comes  back,  and  finance  never  ruined  a 
country,  or  an  individual  either  if  he  had  pluck.  Mr.  Sidney 
Wilton  is  a  croaker.  The  things  he  fears  will  never  happen ;  or 
if  they  do,  will  turn  out  to  be  unimportant.  Look  to  Lord  Roe- 
hampton ;  he  is  the  man.  He  does  not  care  a  rush  whether  the 
revenue  increases  or  declines.  He  is  thinking  of  real  politics : 
foreign  affairs;  maintaining  our  power  in  Europe.  Something 
will  happen,  before  the  session  is  over,  in  the  Mediterranean ;" 
and  she  pressed  her  finger  to  her  lip,  and  then  she  added,  "  The 
country  will  support  Lord  Roehampton  as  they  supported  Pitt, 
and  give  him  any  amount  of  taxes  that  he  likes." 

In  the  mean  time,  the  social  world  had  its  incidents  as  well 
as  the  political,  and  not  less  interesting.  One  of  the  most 
insignificant,  perhaps,  was  the  introduction  into  society  of  the 
Countess  of  Beaumaris.  Her  husband,  sacrificing  even  his 
hunting,  had  come  up  to  town  at  the  meeting  of  Parliament, 
and  received  his  friends  in  a  noble  mansion  on  Piccadilly  Ter- 
race. All  its  equipments  were  sumptuous  and  refined,  and 
everything  had  been  arranged  under  the  personal  supervision  of 
Mr.  Waldershare.  They  commenced  very  quietly ;  dinners  little 
but  constant,  and  graceful  and  finished  as  a  banquet  of  Watteau. 
No  formal  invitations ;  men  were  brought  in  to  dinner  from  the 
House  of  Lords  "just  up,"  or  picked  up,  as  it  were,  carelessly, 
in  the  House  of  Commons  by  Mr.  Waldershare,  or  were  asked 
by  Imogene,  at  a  dozen  hours'  notice,  in  billets  of  irresistible 
simplicity.  Soon  it  was  whispered  about  that  the  thing  to  do 
was  to  dine  with  Beaumaris,  and  that  Lady  Beaumaris  was 
"something  too  delightful."  Prince  Florestan  frequently  dined 
there ;  Waldershare  always  there,  in  a  state  of  coruscation ;  and 
every  man  of  fashion  in  the  opposite  ranks,  especially  if  they 
had  brains. 

Then,  in  a  little  time,  it  was  gently  hoped  that  Imogene 
should  call  on  their  wives  and  mothers,  or  their  wives  and 
mothers  call  on  her;  and  then  she  received,  witliout  any  formal 
invitation,  twice  a  week ;  and  as  there  was  nothing  going  on  in 
London,  or  nothing  half  so  charming,  everybody  who  was  any- 


258  ENDYMION. 

body  came  to  Piccadilly  Terrace ;  and  so  as,  after  long  obser- 
vation, a  new  planet  is  occasionally  discovered  by  a  philosopher, 
thus  society  suddenly  and  indubitably  discovered  that  there 
was  at  last  a  Tory  house. 

Lady  Roehampton,  duly  apprised  of  affairs  by  her  brother, 
had  called  on  Lord  and  Lady  Beaumaris,  and  had  invited  them 
to  her  house.  It  was  the  first  appearance  of  Imogene  in  gen^ 
eral  society,  and  it  was  successful.  Her  large  brown  eyes,  and 
long  black  lashes,  her  pretty  mouth  and  dimple,  her  wondrous 
hair — which,  it  was  whispered,  unfolded,  touched  the  ground — > 
struck  every  one,  and  the  dignified  simplicity  of  her  carriage 
was  attractive.  Her  husband  never  left  her  side,  while  Mr. 
Waldershare  was  in  every  part  of  the  saloons,  watching  her  from 
distant  points,  to  see  how  she  got  on,  or  catching  the  remarks 
of  others  on  her  appearance.  Myra  was  kind  to  her  as  well  as 
courteous,  and  when  the  stream  of  arriving  guests  had  somewhat 
ceased,  sought  her  out  and  spoke  to  her;  and  then  put  her  arm 
in  hers,  walked  with  her  for  a  moment,  and  introduced  her  to 
one  or  two  great  personages,  who  had  previously  intimated  their 
wish  or  their  consent  to  that  effect.  Lady  Montfort  was  not 
one  of  these.  When  parties  are  equal,  and  the  struggle  for 
power  is  intense,  society  loses  much  of  its  sympathy  and  soft- 
ness. Lady  Montfort  could  endure  the  presence  of  Tories, 
provided  they  were  her  kinsfolk,  and  would  join,  even  at  their 
houses,  in  traditionary  festivities;  but  she  shrank  from  passing 
the  line,  and  at  once  had  a  prejudice  against  Imogene,  who  she 
instinctively  felt  might  become  a  power  for  the  enemy. 

"I  will  not  have  you  talk  so  much  to  that  Lady  Beaumaris, ' 
she  said  to  Endymion. 

"  She  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  he  replied. 

"  How  could  you  have  known  her.?  She  was  a  shop-girl,  was 
not  she,  or  something  of  that  sort.'*  " 

"  She  and  her  family  were  very  kind  to  me  when  I  was  not 
much  better  than  a  shop-boy  myself,"  replied  Endymion,  with  a 
mantling  cheek,  "They  are  most  respectable  people,  and  I 
have  a  great  regard  for  her." 

"Indeed!  Well;  I  will  not  keep  you  from  your  Tory 
woman,"  said  Berengaria,  rudely;  and  she  walked  away. 

Altogether,  this  season  of  '40  was  not  a  very  satisfactory  one 
in  any  :-?spect,  as  regarded  society  or  the  country  in  general. 
Party  passion  was  at  its  highest.  The  ministry  retained  office 
almost  by  a  casting  vote ;  were  frequently  defeated  on  important 
questions;  and  whenever  a  vacancy  occurred,  it  was  Tiled  by 


END  YM ION.  259 

their  opponents.  Their  unpopularity  increased  daily,  and  it 
was  stimulated  by  the  general  distress.  All  that  Job  Thorn- 
berry  had  predicted  as  to  the  state  of  manufacturing  Scotland 
duly  occurred.  Besides  manufacturing  distress,  they  had  to 
encounter  a  series  of  bad  harvests.  Never  was  a  body  of  states- 
men placed  in  a  more  embarrassing  and  less  enviable  position. 
There  was  a  prevalent,  though  unfounded,  conviction  that  they 
were  maintained  in  power  by  a  combination  of  court  favor  with 
Irish  sedition. 

Lady  Montfort  and  Lord  Roehampton  were  the  only  persons 
who  never  lost  heart.  She  was  defiant ;  and  he  ever  smiled,  at 
least  in  public.  "What  nonsense  !"  she  would  say.  "  Mr.  Sid- 
ney Wilton  talks  about  the  revenue  falling  off!  As  if  the  rev- 
enue could  ever  really  fall  off!  And  then  our  bad  harvests. 
Why,  that  is  the  very  reason  we  shall  have  an  excellent  harvest 
this  year.  You  cannot  go  on  always  having  bad  harvests.  Be- 
sides, good  harvests  never  make  a  ministry  popular.  Nobody 
thanks  a  ministry  for  a  good  harvest.  What  makes  a  ministry 
popular  is  some  great  coup  in  foreign  affairs." 

Amid  all  these  exciting  disquietudes,  Endymion  pursued  a  life 
of  enjoyment,  but  also  of  observation  and  much  labor.  He 
lived  more  and  more  with  the  Montforts,  but  the  friendship  of 
Berengaria  was  not  frivolous.  Though  she  liked  him  to  be  seen 
where  he  ought  to  figure,  and  required  a  great  deal  of  attention 
herself,  she  ever  impressed  on  him  that  his  present  life  was  only 
a  training  for  a  future  career,  and  that  his  mind  should  ever  be 
fixed  on  the  attainment  of  a  high  position.  Particularly  she  im- 
pressed on  him  the  importance  of  being  a  linguist.  "  There  will 
be  a  reaction  some  day  from  all  this  political  economy,"  she 
would  say,  "  and  then  there  will  be  no  one  ready  to  take  the 
helm,"  Endymion  was  not  unworthy  of  the  inspiring  interest 
which  Lady  Montfort  took  in  him.  The  terrible  vicissitudes  of 
his  early  years  had  gravely  impressed  his  character.  Though 
ambitious,  he  was  prudent ;  and,  though  born  to  please  and  be 
pleased,  he  was  sedulous  and  self-restrained.  Though  naturally 
deeply  interested  in  the  fortunes  of  his  political  friends,  and 
especially  of  Lord  Roehampton  and  Mr.  Wilton,  a  careful  scru- 
tiny of  existing  circumstances  had  prepared  him  for  an  inevita- 
ble change ;  and,  remembering  what  was  their  position  but  a 
few  years  back,  he  felt  that  his  sister  and  himself  should  be 
reconciled  to  their  altered  lot,  and  be  content.  She  would  still 
be  a  peeress,  and  the  happy  wife  of  an  illustrious  man;  and  he 
himself,  though  he  would  have  to  relapse  into  the  drudgery  of  a 


26o  END  YM ion: 

public  office,  would  meet  duties  the  discharge  of  which  was  once 
the  object  of  his  ambition,  coupled  now  with  an  adequate  in- 
come and  with  many  friends. 

And  among  those  friends  there  were  none  with  whom  he 
maintained  his  relations  more  intimately  than  with  the  Neu- 
chatels.  He  was  often  their  guest  both  in  town  and  at  Hainault, 
and  he  met  them  frequently  in  society,  always  at  the  receptions 
of  Lady  Montfort  and  his  sister.  Zenobia  used  sometimes  to 
send  him  a  card ;  but  these  condescending  recognitions  of  late 
had  ceased,  particularly  as  the  great  dame  heard  he  was  "  al- 
ways at  that  Lady  Beaumaris's."  One  of  the  social  incidents  of 
his  circle,  not  the  least  interesting  to  him,  was  the  close  attend- 
ance of  Adriana  and  her  mother  on  the  ministrations  of  Nigel 
Penruddock.  They  had  become  among  the  most  devoted  of 
his  flock ;  and  this,  too,  when  the  rapid  and  startling  develop- 
ment of  his  sacred  offices  had  so  alarmed  the  easy,  though  saga^ 
cious.  Lord  Roehampton  that  he  had  absolutely  expressed  his 
wish  to  Myra  that  she  should  rarely  attend  them,  and,  indeed, 
gradually  altogether  drop  a  habit  which  might  ultimately  com- 
promise her.  Berengaria  had  long  ago  quitted  him.  This  was 
attributed  to  her  reputed  caprice,  yet  it  was  not  so.  "  I  like  a 
man  to  be  practical,"  she  said.  "  When  I  asked  for  a  deanery 
for  him  the  other  day,  the  prime-minister  said  he  could  hardly 
make  a  man  a  dean  who  believed  in  the  Real  Presence."  Nigel's 
church,  however,  was  more  crowded  than  ever,  and  a  large  body 
of  the  clergy  began  to  look  upon  him  as  the  coming  man. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  year  the  "  great  coup  in  foreign  affairs  " 
which  Lady  Montfort  had  long  brooded  over,  and  indeed  fore- 
seen, occurred,  and  took  the  world,  who  were  all  thinking  of 
something  else,  entirely  by  surprise.  A  tripartite  alliance  of 
great  powers  had  suddenly  started  into  life ;  the  Egyptian  host 
was  swept  from  the  conquered  plains  of  Asia  Minor  and  Syria 
by  English  blue-jackets;  St.  Jean  d'Acre,  which  had  baffled 
the  great  Napoleon,  was  bombarded  and  taken  by  a  British 
fleet ;  and  the  whole  fortunes  of  the  world  in  a  moment  seemed 
changed,  and  permanently  changed. 

"  I  am  glad  it  did  not  occur  in  the  season,"  said  Zenobia. 
"I  really  could  not  stand  Lady  Montfort  if  it  were  May." 

The  ministry  were  elate,  and  their  Christmas  was  right  merry. 
There  seemed  good  cause  for  this.  It  was  a  triumph  of  diplo- 
matic skill,  national  valor,  and  administrative  energy.  Myra 
was  prouder  of  her  husband  than  ever,  and,  amid  aH  the  excite- 
ment, he  smiled  on  her  with  sunny  fondness.     Everybody  con- 


ENDYMION,  261 

gratulated  her.  She  gave  a  little  reception  before  the  holidays, 
to  which  everybody  came  who  was  in  town  or  passing  through. 
Even  Zenobia  appeared;  but  she  stayed  a  very  short  time, 
talking  very  rapidly.  Prince  Florestan  paid  his  grave  devoirs, 
with  a  gaze  which  seemed  always  to  search  into  Lady  Roe- 
hampton's  inmost  heart,  yet  never  lingering  about  her;  and 
Waldershare,  full  of  wondrous  compliments  and  conceits,  and 
really  enthusiastic,  for  he  ever  sympathized  with  action  ;  and 
Imogene,  gorgeous  with  the  Beaumaris  sapphires ;  and  Sidney 
Wilton,  who  kissed  his  hostess's  hand,  and  Adriana,  who  kissed 
her  cheek. 

"I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Endymion,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  "  you 
should  make  Lord  Roehampton  your  Chancellor  of  the  Exche- 
quer, and  then  your  government  might  perhaps  go  on  a  little." 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

But,  as  Mr.  Tadpole  observed  with  much  originality  at  the 
Carlton,  they  were  dancing  on  a  volcano.  It  was  December, 
and  the  harvest  was  not  yet  all  got  in,  the  spring  corn  had 
never  grown,  and  the  wheat  was  rusty;  there  was,  he  well 
knew,  another  deficiency  in  the  revenue,  to  be  counted  by 
millions;  wise  men  shook  their  heads,  and  said  the  trade  was 
leaving  the  country,  and  it  was  rumored  that  the  whole  popula- 
tion of  Paisley  lived  on  the  rates. 

"  Lord  Roehampton  thinks  that  something  must  be  done 
about  the  corn  laws,"  murmured  Berengaria  one  day  to  Endy- 
mion, rather  crestfallen;  but  they  will  try  sugar  and  timber 
first.  I  think  it  all  nonsense,  but  nonsense  is  sometimes  neces- 
sary." 

This  was  the  first  warning  of  that  famous  budget  of  1841, 
which  led  to  such  vast  consequences,  and  which,  directly  or 
indirectly,  gave  such  a  new  form  and  color  to  English  politics. 
Sidney  Wilton  and  his  friends  were  at  length  all-powerful  in 
the  cabinet,  becaijse,  in  reality,  there  was  nobody  to  oppose 
them.  The  vessel  was  water-logged.  The  premier  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  Lord  Roehampton  said,  "  We  may  as  well 
try  it,  because  the  alternative  is,  we  shall  have  to  resign." 

Affairs  went  on  badly  for  the  ministry  during  the  early  part 
of  the  session.  They  were  more  than  once  in  a  minority,  and 
on  Irish  questions,  which  then  deeply  interested  the  country; 
but  they  had  resolved  that  their  fate  should  be  decided  by  th-eir 


262  ENDYMION. 

financial  measures,  and  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  and  his  friends  were 
still  sanguine  as  to  the  result.  On  the  last  day  of  April  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  introduced  the  budget,  and  pro- 
])osed  to  provide  for  the  deficiency  by  reducing  the  protective 
duties  on  sugar  and  timber.  A  few  days  after,  the  leader  of 
the  House  of  Commons  himself  announced  a  change  in  the 
corn  laws,  and  the  intended  introduction  of  grain  at  various 
priced  duties  per  quarter. 

Then  commenced  the  struggle  of  a  month.  Ultimately,  Sir 
Robert  Peel  himself  gave  notice  of  a  resolution  of  a  want  of 
confidence  in  the  ministry;  and  after  a  week's  debate  it  was 
carried,  in  an  almost  complete  house,  by  a  majority  of  one ! 

It  was  generally  supposed  that  the  ministry  would  immediately 
resign.  Their  new  measures  had  not  revived  their  popularity, 
and  the  Parliament  in  which  they  had  been  condemned  had 
been  elected  under  their  own  advice  and  influence.  Mr.  Sid- 
ney Wilton  had  even  told  Endymion  to  get  their  papers  in 
order;  and  all  around  the  somewhat  dejected  private  secretary 
there  were  unmistakable  signs  of  that  fatal  flitting  which  is 
peculiarly  sickening  to  the  youthful  politician. 

He  was  breakfasting  in  his  rooms  at  the  Albany  with  not  a 
good  appetite.  Although  he  had  for  some  time  contemplated 
the  possibility  of  such  changes  —  and  contemplated  them,  as  he 
thought,  with  philosophy  —  when  it  came  to  reality  and  practice 
he  found  his  spirit  was  by  no  means  so  calm,  or  his  courage  so 
firm,  as  he  had  counted  on.  The  charms  of  office  arrayed 
themselves  before  him.  The  social  influence,  the  secret  infor- 
mation, the  danger,  the  dexterity,  the  ceaseless  excitement,  the 
delights  of  patronage  which  everybody  affects  to  disregard,  the 
power  of  benefiting  others,  and  often  the  worthy  and  unknown, 
which  is  a  real  joy  —  in  eight-and-forty  hours  or  so,  all  these, 
to  which  he  had  now  been  used  for  some  time,  and  which  with  his 
plastic  disposition  had  become  a  second  nature  —  were  to  van- 
ish, and  probably  never  return.  Why  should  they  ?  He  took  the 
gloomiest  view  of  the  future,  and  in  his  inward  soul  acknowl- 
edged that  the  man  the  country  wanted  was  Peel.  Why  might 
he  not  govern  as  long  as  Pitt }  He  probably  would.  Peel ! 
his  father's  friend  !  And  this  led  to  a  train  of  painful  but  ab- 
sorbing memories,  and  he  sat  musing  and  abstracted,  fiddling 
with  an  idle  egg-spoon. 

His  servant  came  in  with  a  note,  which  he  eagerly  opened.  It 
ran  thus :  "  I  must  see  you  instantly.  I  am  here  in  the 
brougham,  Cork  Street  end,  come  directly.     B.M." 


ENDYMION,  263 

Endymlon  had  to  walk  up  half  the  Albany,  and  marked  the 
brougham  the  whole  way.  There  was  in  it  an  eager  and  radi- 
ant face. 

"You  had  better  get  in,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "for  in  these 
stirring  times  some  of  the  enemy  may  be  passing.  And  now," 
she  continued,  when  the  door  was  fairly  shut,  "  nobody  knows 
it,  not  five  people.     They  are  going  to  dissolve." 

"To  dissolve  !  "  exclaimed  Endymion.     "Will  that  help  us.^" 

"Very  likely,"  said  Berengaria.  "We  have  had  our  share  of 
bad  luck,  and  now  we  may  throw  in.  Cheap  bread  is  a  fine  cry. 
Indeed  it  is  too  shocking  that  there  should  be  laws  which  add 
to  the  price  of  what  everybody  agrees  is  the  staff  of  life.  But 
you  do  nothing  but  stare,  Endymion ;  I  thought  you  would  be 
in  a  state  of  the  greatest  excitement !  " 

"I  am  rather  stunned  than  excited." 

"  Well,  but  you  must  not  be  stunned,  you  must  act.  This  is 
a  crisis  for  our  party,  but  it  is  something  more  for  you.  It  is 
your  climacteric.  They  may  lose,  but  you  must  win,  if  you  will 
only  bestir  yourself.  See  the  whips  directly,  and  get  the  ndost 
certain  seat  you  can.  Nothing  must  prevent  your  being  in 
the  new  Parliament." 

"  I  see  everything  to  prevent  it,"  said  Endymion.  "  I  have 
no  means  of  getting  into  Parliament  —  no  means  of  any  kind." 

"  Means  must  be  found,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "We  cannot 
stop  now  to  talk  about  means.  That  would  be  a  mere  waste  of 
time.  The  thing  must  be  d®ne.  I  am  now  going  to  your  sister, 
to  consult  with  her.  All  you  have  got  to  do  is  to  make  up 
your  mind  that  you  will  be  in  the  next  Parliament,  and  you  will 
succeed  ;  for  everything  in  this  world  depends  upon  will." 

"  I  think  everything  in  this  world  depends  upon  woman,"  said 
Endymion. 

"  It  is  the  same  thing,"  said  Berengaria. 

Adriana  was  with  Lady  Roehampton  when  Lady  Montfort 
was  announced. 

Adriana  came  to  console ;  but  she  herself  was  not  without 
solace,  for,  if  there  were  a  change  of  government,  she  would 
see  more  of  her  friend. 

"  Well,  I  was  prepared  for  it,"  said  Lady  Roehampton.  "  I 
have  always  been  expecting  something  ever  since  what  they 
called  the  Bed-chamber  Plot.'' 

"  Well,  it  gave  us  two  years,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "  and  we 
are  not  out  yet." 

Here  were  three  women,  young,  beautiful,  and  powerful,  and 


264  ENDYMION, 

all  friends  of  Endymion  —  real  friends.  Property  does  not  con- 
sist merely  ©f  parks  and  palaces,  broad  acres,  funds  in  many 
forms,  services  of  plate,  and  collections  of  pictures.  The 
affections  of  the  heart  are  property,  and  the  sympathy  of  the 
right  person  is  often  worth  a  good  estate. 

These  three  charming  women  were  cordial,  and  embraced 
each  other  when  they  met;  but  the  conversation  flagged,  and 
the  penetrating  eye  of  Myra  read  in  the  countenance  of  Lady 
Montfort  the  urgent  need  of  confidence. 

I  "  So,  dearest  Adriana,"  said  Lady  Roehampton,  "  we  will 
drive  out  together  at  three  o'clock.  I  will  call  on  you."  And 
Adriana  disappeared. 

"  You  know  it  V  said  Lady  Montfort,  when  they  were  alone. 
"Of  course  you  know  it.  Besides,  I  know  you  know  it.  What 
I  have  come  about  is  this :  your  brother  must  be  in  the  new 
Parliament." 

"  I  have  not  seen  him ;  I  have  not  mentioned  it  to  him,"  said 
Myra,  somewhat  hesitatingly. 

"  i  have  seen  him ;  I  have  mentioned  it  to  him,"  said  Lady 
Montfort,  decidedly.  "  He  makes  difficulties ;  there  must  be 
none.  He  will  consult  you.  I  came  on  at  once  that  you  might 
be  prepared.  No  difficulty  must  be  admitted.  His  future 
depends  on  it." 

"  I  live  for  his  future,"  said  Lady  Roehampton. 

"  He  will  talk  to  you  about  money.  These  things  always 
cost  money.  As  a  general  rule,  nobody  has  money  who  ought 
to  have  it.  I  know,  dear,  Lord  Roehampton  is  very  kind  to 
you  ;  but,  all  his  life,  he  never  had  too  much  money  at  his  com- 
mand ;  though  why,  I  never  could  make  out.  And  my  lord  has 
always  had  too  much  money ;  but  I  do  not  much  care  to  talk  to 
him  about  these  affairs.  The  thing  must  be  done.  What  is 
the  use  of  diamond  necklaces  if  you  cannot  help  a  friend  into 
Parliament }  But  all  I  want  now  is  that  you  will  throw  no  dif- 
ficulties in  his  way.     Help  him,  too,  if  you  can." 

"  I  wish  Endymion  had  married,"  replied  Myra. 

**  Well ;  I  do  not  see  how  that  would  help  affairs,"  said  Lady 
Montfort.  "  Besides,  I  dislike  married  men.  They  are  very 
uninteresting." 

"  I  mean,  I  wish,"  said  Lady  Roehampton,  musingly,  "  that 
he  had  made  a  great  match." 

"That  is  not  very  easy,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "and  great 
matches  are  generally  failures.  All  the  married  heiresses  I 
have  known  have  shipwrecked." 


ENDYMION.  265 

"And  yet  it  is  possible  to  marry  an  heiress  and  love  her," 
said  Myra. 

"  It  is  possible,  but  very  improbable." 

"  I  think  one  might  easily  love  the  person  who  has  just  left 
the  room." 

"  Miss  Neuchatel .?  " 
»    "  Adriana.     Do  not  you  agree  with  me?  " 

"  Miss  Neuchatel  will  never  marry,"  said  Lady  Montfort, 
"unless  she  loses  her  fortune." 

"  Well ;  do  you  know,  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  she 
liked  Endymion .?  I  never  could  encourage  such  a  feeling; 
and  Endymion,  I  am  sure,  would  not.  I  wish,  I  almost  wish," 
added  Lady  Roehampton,  trying  to  speak  with  playfulness, 
"  that  you  would  use  your  magic  influence,  dear  Lady  Mont- 
fort, and  bring  it  about.  He  would  soon  get  into  Parliament 
then." 

"  I  have  tried  to  marry  Miss  Neuchatel  once,"  said  Lady 
Monlfort,  with  a  mantling  cheek,  "  and  I  am  glad  to  say  I  did 
not  succeed.     My  match-making  is  over." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  ;  one  of  those  still  moments  which 
almost  seem  inconsistent  with  life,  certainly  with  the  presence 
of  more  than  one  human  being.  Lady  Roehampton  seemed 
buried  in  deep  thought.  She  was  quite  abstracted,  her  eyes 
fixed,  and  fixed  upon  the  ground.  All  the  history  of  her  life 
passed  through  her  brain  —  all  the  history  of  their  lives;  from 
the  nursery  to  this  proud  moment,  proud  even  with  all  its 
searching  anxiety.  And  yet  the  period  of  silence  could  be 
counted  almost  by  seconds.  Suddenly  she  looked  up  with  a 
flushed  cheek  and  a  dazed  look,  and  said,  "  It  must  be  done." 

Lady  Montfort  sprang  forward  with  a  glance  radiant  with 
hope  and  energy,  and  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks.  "  Dearest 
Lady  Roehampton,"  she  exclaimed,  "  dearest  Myra !  I  knew 
you  would  agree  with  me.     Yes  !  it  must  be  done." 

"You  will  see  him  perhaps  before  I  do.?"  inquired  Myra 
rather  hesitatingly. 

"  I  see  him  every  day  at  the  same  time,"  replied  Lady  Mont- 
fort. "  He  generally  walks  down  to  the  House  of  Commons 
with  Mr.  Wilton,  and  when  they  have  answered  questions,  and 
he  has  got  all  the  news  of  the  lobby,  he  comes  to  me.  I  always 
manage  to  get  home  from  my  drive  to  give  him  half  an  hour 
before  dinner." 


266  END  YMION. 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 

Lady  Montfort  drove  off  to  the  private  residence  of  the 
Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  who  was  of  course  in  the  great 
secret.  She  looked  over  his  lists,  examined  his  books,  and 
seemed  to  have  as  much  acquaintance  with  electioneering 
details  as  that  wily  and  experienced  gentleman  himself.  "  Is- 
there  anything  I  can  do?"  she  repeatedly  inquired ;  "command 
me  without  compunction.  Is  it  any  use  giving  any  parties? 
Can  I  write  any  letters?     Can  I  see  anybody?" 

"If  you  could  stir  up  my  lord  a  little?"  said  the  secretary 
inquiringly. 

"Well,  that  is  difficult,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "perhaps  impos- 
sible. But  you  have  all  his  influence,  and  when  there  is  a  point 
that  presses  you  must  let  me  know." 

"If  he  would  only  speak  to  his  agents?"  said  the  secretary, 
"but  they  say  he  will  not,   and    he  has   a  terrible    fellow   in 

shire,  who  I  hear  is  one  of  the  stewards  for  a  dinner  to 

Sir  Robert." 

"  I  have  stopped  all  that,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "  That  was 
Odo's  doing,  who  is  himself  not  very  sound ;  full  of  prejudices 
about  O'Connell,  and  all  that  stuff.  But  he  must  go  with  his 
party.     You  need  not  fear  about  him." 

"Well!  it  is  a  leap  in  the  dark,"  said  the  secretary. 

"Oh!  no,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "all  will  go  right.  A  starv- 
ing people  must  be  in  favor  of  a  government  who  will  give 
them  bread  for  nothing.  Bye-the-bye,  there  is  one  thing,  my 
dear  Mr.  Secretary,  you  must  remember.  I  must  have  one 
seat,  a  certain  seat,  reserved  for  my  nomination." 

"A  certain  seat  in  these  days  is  a  rare  gem,"  said  the  sec- 
retary. 

"  Yes,  but  I  must  have  it  nevertheless,"  said  Lady  Montfort. 
"  I  don't  care  about  the  cost  or  the  trouble  —  but  it  must  be 
certain." 

Then  she  went  home  and  wrote  a  line  to  Endymion,  to  tell 
him  that  it  was  all  settled,  that  she  had  seen  his  sister,  who  agreed 
with  her  that  it  must  be  done,  and  that  she  had  called  on  the 
Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  and  had  secured  a  certain  seat.  "  I 
wish  you  could  come  to  luncheon,"  she  added,  "  but  I  suppose 
that  is  impossible ;  you  are  always  so  busy.  Why  were  you 
not  in  the  Foreign  Office  ?     I  am  now  going  to  call  on  the  Tory 


END  YM TON.  267 

women  to  see  how  they  look,  but  I  shall  be  at  home  a  good 
while  before  seven,  and  of  course  count  on  seeing  you." 

In  the  mean  time,  Endymion  by  no  means  shared  the  pleas- 
urable excitement  of  his  fair  friend.  His  was  an  agitated  walk 
from  the  Albany  to  Whitehall,  where  he  resumed  his  duties 
moody  and  disquieted.  There  was  a  large  correspondence  this 
morning,  which  was  a  distraction  and  a  relief,  until  the  bell  of 
Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  sounded,  and  he  was  in  attendance  on  his 
chief. 

"  It  is  a  great  secret,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "but  I  think  I  ought 
to  tell  you  ;  instead  of  resigning,  the  government  have  decided  to 
dissolve.  I  think  it  a  mistake,  but  I  stand  by  my  friends.  They 
believe  the  Irish  vote  will  be  very  large,  and  with  cheap  bread 
will  carry  us  through.  I  think  the  stronger  we  shall  be  in  Ire- 
land the  weaker  we  shall  be  in  England,  and  I  doubt  whether 
our  cheap  bread  will  be  cheap  enough.  These  Manchester 
associations  have  altered  the  aspect  of  affairs.  I  have  been 
thinking  a  good  deal  about  your  position.  I  should  like,  before 
we  broke  up,  to  have  seen  you  provided  for  by  some  permanent 
office  of  importance  in  which  you  might  have  been  useful  to 
the  State,  but  it  is  difficult  to  manage  these  things  suddenly. 
However,  now  we  have  time  at  any  rate  to  look  about  us.  Still 
if  I  could  have  seen  you  permanently  attached  to  this  office  in 
a  responsible  position,  I  should  have  been  glad.  I  impressed 
upon  the  chief  yesterday  that  you  are  most  fit  for  it." 

"  Oh  .?  do  not  think  of  me,  dear  sir ;  you  have  been  almost  too 
kind  to  me.  I  shall  be  content  with  my  lot.  All  I  shall  regret 
is  ceasing  to  serve  you." 

Lady  Montfort's  carriage  drove  up  to  Montfort  House  just  as 
Endymion  reached  the  door.  She  took  his  arm  with  eagerness; 
she  seemed  breathless  with  excitement.  "  I  fear  I  am  very  late, 
but  if  you  had  gone  away  I  should  never  have  pardoned  you. 
I  have  been  kept  by  listening  to  all  the  new  appointments  from 
Lady  Bellasyse.  They  quite  think  we  are  out;  you  may  be 
sure  I  did  not  deny  it.  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you.  Come  into 
my  lord's  room ;  he  is  away  fishing.  Think  of  fishing  at  such 
a  crisis !  I  cannot  tell  you  how  pleased  I  was  with  my  visit  to 
Lady  Roehampton.  She  quite  agreed  with  me  in  everything. 
'  It  must  be  done,'  she  said.  How  very  right !  and  I  have 
almost  done  it.  I  will  have  a  certain  seat ;  no  chances.  Let 
us  have  something  to  fall  back  upon.  If  not  in  office  we  shall 
be  in  opposition.  All  men  must  some  time  or  other  be  in  oppo- 
sition.    There  you  will  form  yourself.     It  is  a  great  thing  to 


268  END  YM ION, 

have  had  some  official  experience.  It  will  save  you  from  mare's 
nests,  and  I  will  give  parties  without  end,  and  never  rest  till  I 
see  you  prime-minister." 

"  So  she  threw  hefself  into  her  husband's  easy  chair,  tossed 
her  parasol  on  the  table,  and  then  she  said,  "  But  what  is  the 
matter  with  you,  Endymion  !  you  look  quite  sad.  You  do  not 
mean  you  really  take  our  defeat  —  which  is  not  certain  yet  — 
so  much  to  heart.  Believe  me,  opposition  has  its  charms;  in- 
deed I  sometimes  think  the  principal  reason  why  I  have  enjoyed 
our  ministerial  life  so  much  is,  that  it  has  been  from  the  first  a 
perpetual  struggle  for  existence." 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  quite  indifferent  to  the  probably 
impending  change,"  said  Endymion,  "  but  I  cannot  say  there  is 
anything  about  it  which  would  affect  my  feelings  very  deeply." 

"  What  is  it  then  }  " 

"  It  is  this  business  about  which  you  and  Myra  are  so  kindly 
interesting  yourselves,"  said  Endymion,  with  some  emotion;  "  I 
do  not  think  I  could  go  into  Parliament." 

"  Not  go  into  Parliament !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Montfort.  "  Why, 
what  are  men  mad^  for  except  to  go  into  Parliament !  I  am 
indeed  astounded." 

"I  do  not  disparage  Parliament,"  said  Endymion;  "much 
the  reverse.  It  is  a  life  that  I  think  would  suit  me,  and  I  have 
often  thought  the  day  might  come  —  " 

"  The  day  has  come,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "  and  not  a  bit  too 
soon.  Mr.  Fox  went  in  before  he  was  of  age,  and  all  young 
men  of  spirit  should  do  the  same.  Why  !  you  are  two  and 
twenty !  " 

"  It  is  not  my  age,"  said  Endymion,  hesitatingly ;  "  I  am  not 
afraid  about  that,  for,  from  the  life  which  I  have  led  of  late 
years,  I  know  a  good  deal  about  the  House  of  Commons." 

"  Then  what  is  it,  dear  Endymion  ? "  said  Lady  Montfort 
impatiently. 

"  It  will  make  a  great  change  in  my  life,"  said  Endymion, 
calmly,  but  with  earnestness,  "and  one  which  I  do  not  feel 
.justified  in  accepting." 

"  I  repeat  to  you,  that  you  need  give  yourself  no  anxiety 
about  the  seat,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "  It  will  not  cost  you  a 
shilling.  I  and  your  sister  have  arranged  all  that.  As  she  very 
wisely  said,  *  it  must  be  done,'  and  it  is  done.  All  you  have  to 
do  is  to  write  an  address  and  make  plenty  of  speeches,  and  you 
are  M.P.  for  life,  or  as  long  as  you  like." 

"Possibly;  a  parliamentary  adventurer;  I  might  swim  or  I 


ENDYMION.  269 

might  sink ;  the  chances  are  it  would  be  the  latter,  for  storms 
would  arise,  when  those  disappear  who  have  no  root  in  the 
country,  and  no  fortune  to  secure  them  breathing  time  and  a 
future." 

"  Well,  I  did  not  expect,  when  you  handed  me  out  of  my  car- 
riage to-day,  that  I  was  going  to  listen  to  a  homily  on  pru- 
dence." 

"  It  is  not  very  romantic,  I  own,"  said  Endymion,  "  but  my 
prudence  is  at  any  rate  not  a  common-place  caught  up  from 
copy-books.  I  am  only  two  and  twenty,  but  I  have  had  some 
experience,  and  it  has  been  very  bitter.  I  have  spoken  to  you, 
dearest  lady,  sometimes  of  my  earlier  life,  for  I  wished  you  to 
be  acquainted  with  it,  but  I  observed  also  you  always  seemed 
to  shrink  from  such  confidence,  and  I  ceased  from  touching  on 
what  I  saw  did  not  interest  you." 

"  Quite  a  mistake.  It  greatly  interested  me.  I  know  all 
about  you  and  everything.  I  know  you  were  not  always  a  clerk 
in  a  public  office,  but  the  spoiled  child  of  splendor.  I  know 
your  father  was  a  dear  good  man,  but  he  made  a  mistake,  and 
followed  the  Duke  of  Wellington  instead  of  Mr.  Canning.  Had 
he  not,  he  would  probably  be  alive  now,  and  certainly  secretary 
of  state,  like  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton.  BMtyou  must  not  make  a  mis- 
take, Endymion.  My  business  in  life,  and  your  sister's  too,  is 
to  prevent  your  making  mistakes.  And  you  are  on  the  eve  of 
making  a  very  great  one  if  you  lose  this  golden  opportunity. 
Do  not  think  of  the  past ;  you  dwell  on  it  too  much.  Be  like 
me,  live  in  the  present,  and  when  you  dream,  dream  of  the 
future." 

"  Ah !  the  present  would  be  adequate,  it  would  be  fascina- 
tion, if  I  always  had  such  a  companion  as  Lady  Montfort,"  said 
Endymion,  shaking  his  head.  "  What  surprises  me  most,  what 
indeed  astounds  me,  is  that  Myra  should  join  in  this  counsel — 
Myra,  who  knows  all,  and  who  has  felt  it  perhaps  deeper  even 
than  I  did.  But  I  will  not  obtrude  these  thoughts  on  you,  best 
and  dearest  of  friends.  I  ought  not  to  have  made  to  you  the 
allusions  to  my  private  position  which  I  have  done,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  the  only  way  to  explain  my  conduct,  otherwise 
inexplicable." 

"And  to  whom  ought  you  to  say  these  things  if  not  to  me," 
said  Lady  Montfort,  "  whom  you  called  just  now  your  best  and 
dearest  friend  ?  I  wish  to  be  such  to  you.  Perhaps  I  have 
been  too  eager,  but,  at  any  rate,  it  was  eagerness  for  your  wel- 
fare.    Let  us,  then,  be  calm.     Speak  to  me  as  you  would  to 


270  ENDYMION, 

Myra.     I  cannot  be  your  twin,  but  I  can  be  your  sister  in 
feeling." 

He  took  her  hand  and  gently  pressed  it  to  his  lips ;  his  eyes 
would  have  been  bedewed  had  not  the  dreadful  sorrows  and 
trials  of  his  life  much  checked  his  native  susceptibility.  Then, 
speaking  in  a  serious  tone,  he  said,  "  I  am  not  without  ambition, 
dearest  Lady  Montfort ;  I  have  had  visions  which  would  satisfy 
ev^n  you;  but,  partly  from  my  temperament,  still  more  perhaps 
from  the  vicissitudes  of  my  life,  I  have  considerable  waiting 
powers.     I  think  if  one  is  patient  and  watches  all  will  come  of 

fhich  one  is  capable ;  but  no  one  can  be  patient  who  is  not  in- 
ependent.  My  wants  are  moderate,  but  their  fulfillment  must 
be  certain.  The  break-up  of  the  government,  which  deprives 
me  of  my  salary  as  a  private  secretary,  deprives  me  of  luxuries 
which  I  can  do  without — a  horse,  a  brougham,  a  stall  at  the 
play,  a  flower  in  my  button-hole — but  my  clerkship  is  my  free- 
hold. As  long  as  I  possess  it,  I  can  study,  I  can  work,  I  can 
watch  and  comprehend  all  the  machinery  of  government.  I 
can  move  in  society,  without  which  a  public  man,  whatever  his 
talents  or  acquirements,  is  in  life  playing  at  blindman's-buff.  I 
must  sacrifice  this  citadel  of  my  life  if  I  go  into  Parliament.  Do 
not  be  offended,  therefore,  if  I  say  to  you  as  I  shall  say  to  Myra, 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  surrender  it.  It  is  true  I  have 
the  misfortune  to  be  a  year  older  than  Charles  Fox  when  he 
entered  the  senate,  but  even  with  this  great  disadvantage  I  am 
sometimes  conceited  enough  to  believe  that  I  shall  succeed,  and 
to  back  myself  against  the  field." 


CHAPTER    LXVII. 

Mr.  Waldershare  was  delighted  when  the  great  secret  was 
out  and  he  found  that  the  ministry  intended  to  dissolve  and 
not  resign.  It  was  on  a  Monday  that  Lord  John  Russell  njade 
this  announcement,  and  Waldershare  met  Endymion  in  the 
lobby  of  the  House  of  Commons.  "I  congratulate  you,  my 
dear  boy ;  your  fellows,  at  least,  have  pluck.  If  they  lose, 
which  I  think  they  will,  they  will  have  gained  at  least  three 
months  of  power,  and  irresponsible  power.  Why,  they  may  do' 
anything  in  the  interval,  and  no  doubt  will.  You  will  see; 
they  will  make  their  chargers  consuls.  It  beats  the  Bed- 
chamber Plot,  and  I  always  admired  that.  One  hundred  days! 
Why,  the  Second  Empire  lasted  only  one  hundred  days.     But 


ENDYMION,  271 

what  days !  what  excitement !     They  were  worth  a  hundred 
years  at  Elba." 

"  Your  friends  do  not  seem  quite  so  pleased  as  you  are,"  said 
Endymion. 

"  My  friends,  as  you  call  them,  are  old  fogies,  and  want  to 
divide  the  spoil  among  the  ancient  hands.  It  will  be  a  great 
thing  for  Peel  to  get  rid  of  some  of  these  old  friends.  A  disso- 
lution permits  the  powerful  to  show  their  power.  There  is 
Beaumaris,  for  example ;  now  he  will  have  an  opportunity  of 
letting  them  know  who  Lord  Beaumaris  is.  I  have  a  dream;, 
he  must  be  Master  of  the  Horse.  I  shall  never  rest  till  I  seeJT 
Imogene  riding  in  that  golden  coach  and  breaking  the  line  with* 
all  the  honors  of  royalty. 

"  Mr.  Ferrars,"  said  the  editor  of  a  newspaper,  seizing  his 
watched-for  opportunity  as  Waldershare  and  Endymion  sepa- 
rated, "do  you  think  you  could  favor  me  this  evening  with  Mr. 
Sidney  Wilton's  address.?  We  have  always  supported  Mr.  Wil- 
ton's views  on  the  Corn  Laws,  and,  if  put  clearly  and  power- 
fully before  the  country  at  this  juncture,  the  effect  might  be 
great,  perhaps  even,  if  sustained,  decisive." 

Eight-and-forty  hours  and  more  had  elapsed  since  the  con- 
versation between  Endymion  and  Lady  Montfort ;  they  had 
not  been  happy  days.  For  the  first  time  during  their  acquaint- 
ance there  had  been  constraint  and  embarrassment  between 
them.  Lady  Montfort  no  longer  opposed  his  views,  but  she 
did  not  approve  them.  She  avoided  the  subject;  she  looked 
uninterested  in  all  that  was  going  on  around  her;  talked  of 
joining  her  lord  and  going  a-fishing;  felt  he  was  right  in  his 
views  of  life.  "  Dear  Simon  was  always  right,"  and  then  she 
sighed,  and  then  she  shrugged  her  very  pretty  shoulders.  En- 
dymion, though  he  called  on  her  as  usual,  found  there  was 
nothing  to  converse  about;  politics  seemed  tacitly  forbidden, 
and  when  he  attempted  small  talk  Lady  Montfort  seemed 
absent,  and  once  absolutely  yawned. 

What  amazed  Endymion  still  more  was  that,  under  these 
rather  distressing  circumstances,  he  did  not  find  adequate  sup- 
port and  sympathy  in  his  sister.  Lady  Roehampton  did  not 
question  the  propriety  of  his  decision,  but  she  seemed  quite  as 
unhappy  and  as  dissatisfied  as  Lady  Montfort. 

"What  you  say,  dearest  Endymion,  is  quite  unanswerable, 
and  I  alone,  perhaps,  can  really  know  that;  but  what  I  feel  is 
I  have  failed  in  life.     My  dream  was  to  secure  you  greatness, 


272  ENDYMION, 

and  now,  when  the  first  occasion  arrives,  it  seems  I  am  more 
than  powerless." 

"  Dearest  sister !  you  have  done  so  much  for  me." 

"  Nothing,"  said  Lady  Roehampton ;  "  what  I  have  done  for 
you  would  have  been  done  by  every  sister  in  this  metropolis. 
I  dreamed  of  other  things  ;  I  fancied,  with  my  affection  and 
my  will,  I  could  command  events  and  place  you  on  a  pinnacle. 
I  see  my  folly  now  ;  others  have  controlled  your  life,  not  I — as 
was  most  natural ;  natural,  but  still  bitter." 

"  Dearest  Myra !  " 

"  It  is  so,  Endymion.  Let  us  deceive  ourselves  no  longer.  I 
ought  not  to  have  rested  until  you  were  in  a  position  which 
would  have  made  you  master  of  your  destiny." 

"  But  if  there  should  be  such  a  thing  as  destiny  it  will  not 
submit  to  the  mastery  of  man." 

"  Do  not  split  words  with  me ;  you  know  what  I  mean ;  you 
feel  what  I  mean;  I  mean  much  more  than  I  say,  and  you 
understand  much  more  than  I  say.  My  lord  told  me  to  ask 
you  to  dine  with  us  if  you  called,  but  I  will  not  ask  you.  There 
is  no  joy  in  meeting  at  present.  I  feel  as  I  felt  in  our  last  year 
at  Hurstley." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  dear  Myra!  "  and  Endymion  sprang  for- 
ward and  kissed  her  very  much.  "  Trust  me ;  all  will  come 
right;  a  little  patience,  and  all  will  come  right." 

"  I  have  had  patience  enough  in  life,"  said  Lady  Roehampton; 
"years  of  patience,  the  most  doleful,  the  most  dreary,  the  most 
dark  and  tragical.  And  I  bore  it  all,  and  I  bore  it  well,  because 
I  thought  of  you  and  had  confidence  in  you,  and  confidence  in 
your  star ;  and  because,  like  an  idiot,  I  had  schooled  myself  to 
believe  that,  if  I  devoted  my  will  to  you,  that  star  would 
triumph." 

So  the  reader  will  see  that  our  hero  was  not  in  a  very  serene 
and  genial  mood  when  he  was  button-holed  by  the  editor  in  the 
lobby,  and  it  is  feared  he  was  unusually  curt  with  that  gentle- 
man, which  editors  do  not  like,  and  sometimes  reward  with  a 
leading  article  in  consequence  on  the  character  and  career  of 
our  political  chief,  perhaps  with  some  passing  reference  to  jacks- 
in-office  and  the  superficial  impertinence  of  private  secretaries. 
These  wise  and  amiable  speculators  on  public  affairs  should, 
however,  sometimes  charitably  remember  that  even  ministers 
have  their  chagrins,  and  that  the  trained  temper  and  impertur- 
bable presence  of  mind  of  their  aides-de-camp  are  not  abso- 
lutely proof  to  all  the  infirmities  of  human  nature. 


ENDYMION.  273 

Endymion  had  returned  home  from  the  lobby  depressed  and 
dispirited.  The  last  incident  of  our  life  shapes  and  colors  our 
feelings.  Ever  since  he  had  settled  in  London  his  life  might 
be  said  to  have  been  happy,  gradually  and  greatly  prosperous. 
The  devotion  of  his  sister  and  the  eminent  position  she  had 
achieved,  the  friendship  of  Lady  Montfort,  and  the  kindness 
of  society,  which  had  received  him  with  open  arms,  his  easy 
circumstances  after  painful  narrowness  of  means,  his  honorable 
and  interesting  position  —  these  had  been  the  chief  among 
many  other  causes  which  had  justly  rendered  Endymion  Fer- 
rars  a  satisfied  and  contented  man.  And  it  was  more  than  to 
be  hoped  that  not  one  of  these  sources  would  be  wanting  in  his 
future.  And  yet  he  felt  dejected  even  to  unhappiness.  Myra 
figured  to  his  painful  consciousness  only  as  deeply  wounded  in 
her  feelings  and  he  somehow  the  cause ;  Lady  Montfort,  from 
whom  he  had  never  received  anything  but  smiles  and  inspiring 
kindness  and  witty  raillery  and  affectionate  solicitude  for  his 
welfare,  offended  and  estranged.  And  as  for  society,  perhaps 
it  would  make  a  great  difference  in  his  position  if  he  were  no 
longer  a  private  secretary  to  a  cabinet  minister  and  only  a  sim- 
ple clerk;  he  could  not,  even  at  this  melancholy  moment,  dwell 
on  his  impending  loss  of  income,  though  that  increase  at  the 
time  had  occasioned  him  and  those  who  loved  him  so  much  sat- 
isfaction. And  yet  was  he  in  fault.?  Had  his  decision  been  a 
narrow-minded  and  craven  one .?  He  could  not  bring  himself 
to  believe  so ;  his  conscience  assured  him  that  he  had  acted 
rightly.  After  all  that  he  had  experienced,  he  was  prepared  to 
welcome  an  obscure,  but  could  not  endure  a  humiliating,  posi- 
tion. 

It  was  a  long  summer  evening.  The  House  had  not  sat  after 
the  announcement  of  the  ministers.  The  twilight  lingered  with 
a  charm  almost  as  irresistible  as  among  woods  and  waters.  En- 
dymion had  been  engaged  to  dine  out,  but  had  excused  himself. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  Montfort  misunderstanding  he  would 
have  gone ;  but  that  haunted  him.  He  had  not  called  on  her 
that  day ;  he  really  had  not  courage  to  meet  her.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  think  that  he  might  never  see  her  again ;  never,  cer- 
tainly, on  the  same  terms.  She  had  the  reputation  of  being 
capricious,  though  she  had  been  constant  in  her  kindness  to 
him.  Never  see  her  again,  or  only  see  her  changed  !  He  was 
not  aware  of  the  fulness  of  his  misery  before ;  he  was  not  aware 
until  this  moment  that  unless  he  saw  her  every  day  life  would 
be  intolerable. 


274  ENDYMION, 

He  sat  down  at  his  table,  covered  with  notes  in  every  female 
handwriting  except  the  right  one,  and  with  cards  of  invitation 
to  banquets  and  balls  and  concerts  and  "  very  earlies  "  and  car- 
pet-dances—  for  our  friend  was  a  very  fashionable  young  man; 
but  what  is  the  use  of  even  being  fashionable  if  the  person  you 
love  cares  for  you  no  more  ?  And  so,  out  of  very  wantonness, 
instead  of  opening  notes  sealed  or  stamped  with  every  form  of 
coronet,  he  took  up  a  business-like  epistle,  closed  with  only  a  wafer, 
and,  saying  in  drollery,  "  I  should  think  a  dun,"  he  took  out  a 
scrip  receipt  for  ;^2o,ooo.  Consols,  purchased  that  morning  in 
the  name  of  Endymion  Ferrars,  Esq.  It  was  enclosed  in  half 
a  sheet  of  note-paper,  on  which  were  written  these  words  in  a 
handwriting  which  gave  no  clew  of  acquaintanceship  or  even 
sex  :  "Mind,  you  are  to  send  me  your  first  frank." 


CHAPTER  LXVni. 

It  was  useless  to  ask,  Who  could  it  be.''  It  could  only  be 
one  person;  and  yet  how  could  it  have  been  managed.^  So 
completely  and  so  promptly !  Her  lord,  too,  away ;  the  only 
being,  it  would  seem,  who  could  have  effected  for  her  such  a 
purpose,  and  he  the  last  individual  to  whom,  perhaps,  she  would 
have  applied.  Was  it  a  dream .?  The  long  twilight  was  dying 
away,  and  it  dies  away  in  the  Albany  a  little  sooner  than  it  does 
in  Park  Lane;  and  so  he  lit  the  candles  on  his  mantel-piece, 
and  then  again  unfolded  the  document  carefully  and  read  it  and 
reread  it.  It  was  not  a  dream.  He  held  in  his  hand  firmly,  and 
read  with  his  eyes  clearly,  the  evidence  that  he  was  the  uncon- 
trolled master  of  no  slight  amount  of  capital,  and  which,  if 
treated  with  prudence,  secured  to  him  for  life  an  absolute  and 
becoming  independence.     His  heart  beat  and  his  cheek  glowed. 

What  a  woman !  And  how  true  were  Myra's  last  words  at 
Hurstley,  that  women  would  be  his  best  friends  in  life !  He 
ceased  to  think;  and,  dropping  into  his  chair,  fell  into  a  reverie 
in  which  the  past  and  the  future  seemed  to  blend,  with  some 
mingling  of  a  vague  and  almost  ecstatic  present.  It  was  a 
dream  of  fair  women,  and  even  fairer  thoughts,  domestic  ten- 
derness and  romantic  love,  mixed  up  with  strange  vicissitudes 
of  lofty  and  fiery  action,  and  passionate  passages  of  eloquence 
and  power.  The  clock  struck  and  roused  him  from  his  musing. 
He  fell  from  the  clouds.  Could  he  accept  this  boon  }  Was  his 
doing  so    consistent  with  that   principle  of  independence  on 


ENDYMION.  .  275 

which  he  had  resolved  to  build  up  his  life  ?  The  boon  thus 
conferred  might  be  recalled  and  returned ;  not  legally,  indeed, 
but  by  a  stronger  influence  than  any  law — the  consciousness  on 
his  part  that  the  feeling  of  interest  in  his  life  which  had 
prompted  it  might  change — would,  must  change.  It  was  the 
romantic  impulse  of  a  young  and  fascinating  woman,  who  had 
been  to  him  invariably  kind,  but  who  had  a  reputation  for 
caprice  which  was  not  unknown  to  him.  It  was  a  wild  and 
beautiful  adventure,  but  only  that. 

He  walked  up  and  down  his  rooms  for  a  long  time,  sometimes 
thinking,  sometimes  merely  musing;  sometimes  in  a  pleased  but 
gently  agitated  state  of  almost  unconsciousness.  At  last  he  sat 
down  at  his  writing-table,  and  wrote  for  some  time ;  and  then 
directing  the  letter  to  the  Countess  of  Montfort,  he  resolved  to 
change  the  current  of  his  thoughts,  and  went  to  a  club. 

Morning  is  not  romantic.  Romance  is  the  twilight  spell;  but 
morn  is  bright  and  joyous,  prompt  with  action,  and  full  of  san- 
guine hope.  Life  has  few  difficulties  in  the  morning,  at  least, 
none  which  we  cannot  conquer ;  and  a  private  secretary  to  a 
minister,  young  and  prosperous,  at  his  first  meal,  surrounded  by 
dry  toast,  all  the  newspapers,  and  files  of  correspondence,  ask- 
ing and  promising  everything,  feels  with  pride  and  delight  the 
sense  of  powerful  and  responsible  existence.  Endymion  had 
glanced  at  all  the  leading  articles,  had  sorted  in  the  correspond- 
ence the  grain  from  the  chaff,  and  had  settled  in  his  mind  those 
who  must  be  answered  and  those  who  must  be  seen.  The 
strange  incident  of  last  night  was  of  course  not  forgotten,  but 
removed,  as  it  were,  from  his  consciousness  in  the  bustle  and 
pressure  of  active  life,  when  his  servant  brought  him  a  letter  in 
a  handwriting  he  knew  right  well.  He  would  not  open  it  till  he 
was  alone,  and  then  it  was  with  a  beating  heart  and  a  burning 
cheek. 

LADY    MONTFORT's    LETTER. 

"What  is  it  all  about?  and  what  does  it  all  mean  }  I  should 
have  thought  some  great  calamity  had  occurred  if,  however 
distressing,  it  did  not  appear  in  some  sense  to  be  gratifying. 
What  is  gratifying?  You  deal  in  conundrums,  which  I  never 
could  find  out.  Of  course  I  shall  be  at  home  to  you  at  any 
time,  if  you  wish  to  see  me.  Pray  come  on  at  once,  as  I  detest 
mysteries.  I  went  to  the  play  last  night  with  your  sister.  We 
both  of  us  rather  expected  to  see  you,  but  it  seems  neither  of 
us  had  mentioned  to  you  we  were  going.     I  did  not,  for  I  was 


276  ENDYMIOA\ 

too  low-spirited  about  your  affairs.  You  lost  nothing.  The 
piece  was  stupid  beyond  expression.  We  laughed  heartily,  at 
least  I  did,  to  show  we  were  not  afraid.  My  lord  came  home 
last  night  suddenly.  Odo  is  going  to  stand  for  the  county,  and 
his  borough  is  vacant.  What  an  opportunity  it  would  have 
been  for  you  !  a  certain  seat.  But  I  care  for  no  boroughs  now. 
My  lord  will  want  you  to  dine  with  him  to-day  ;  I  hope  you 
can  come.  Perhaps  he  will  not  be  able  to  see  you  this  morn- 
ing, as  his  agent  will  be  with  him  about  these  elections. 
Adieu!" 

If  Lady  Montfort  did  not  like  conundrums,  she  had  suc- 
ceeded, however,  in  sending  one  sufficiently  perplexing  to 
Endymion.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  writer  of  this  letter 
was  the  unknown  benefactress  of  the  preceding  year  ?  Lady 
Montfort  was  not  a  mystifier.  Her  nature  was  singularly  frank 
and  fearless,  and  when  Endymion  told  her  everything  that  had 
occurred,  and  gave  her  the  document  which  originally  he  had 
meant  to  bring  with  him  in  order  to  return  it,  her  amazement 
and  her  joy  were  equal. 

'*  I  wish  I  had  sent  it,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "  but  that  was 
impossible.  I  do  not  care  who  did  send  it ;  I  have  no  female 
curiosity  except  about  matters  which,  by  knowledge,  I  may 
influence.  This  is  finished.  You  are  free.  You  cannot  hesi- 
tate as  to  your  course.  I  never  could  speak  to  you  again  if 
you  did  hesitate.  Stop  here,  and  I  will  go  to  my  lord.  This  is 
a  great  day.  If  we  can  settle  only  to-day  that  you  shall  be  the 
candidate  for  our  borough,  I  really  shall  not  much  care  for  the 
change  of  ministry." 

Lady  Montfort  was  a  long  time  away.  Endymion  would 
have  liked  to  have  gone  forth  on  his  affairs,  but  she  had  im- 
pressed upon  him  so  earnestly  to  wait  for  her  return  that  he 
felt  he  could  not  retire.  The  room  was  one  to  which  he  was 
not  unaccustomed — otherwise,  its  contents  would  not  have  been 
uninteresting  :  her  portrait  by  more  than  one  great  master,  a 
miniature  of  her  husband  in  a  Venetian  dress  upon  her  writing- 
table — a  table  which  wonderfully  indicated  alike  the  lady  of 
fashion  and  the  lady  of  business,  for  there  seemed  to  be  no 
form  in  which  paper  could  be  folded  and  emblazoned  which 
was  there  wanting;  quires  of  letter-paper  and  note-paper  and 
notelet-paper,  from  despatches  of  state  to  billet-doux,  all  were 
ready  ;  great  covers  with  arms  and  supporters,  more  moderate 
ones  with  "Berengaria"  in  letters  of  glittering  fancy,  and  the 


ENDYMION.  277 

destined  shells  of  diminutive  effusions  marked  only  with  a 
golden  bee.  There  was  another  table  covered  with  trinkets 
and  precious  toys  :  snuff-boxes  and  patch-boxes  beautifully 
painted,  exquisite  miniatures,  rare  fans,  cups  of  agate,  birds 
glittering  with  gems  almost  as  radiant  as  the  tropic  plumage 
they  imitated,  wild  animals  cut  out.  of  ivory  or  formed  of  fan- 
tastic pearls — all  the  spoils  of  queens  and  royal  mistresses. 

Upon  the  walls  were  drawings  of  her  various  homes — that  of 
her  childhood,  as  well  as  of  the  hearths  she  ruled  and  loved. 
There  were  a  few  portraits  on  the  walls  also  of  those  whom  she 
ranked  as  her  particular  friends.  Lord  Roehampton  was  one, 
another  was  the  Count  of  Ferroll. 

Time  went  on  ;  on  a  Httle  table,  by  the  side  of  evidently  her 
favorite  chair,  was  a  book  she  had  been  reading.  It  was  a 
German  tale  of  fame,  and  Endymion,  dropping  into  her  seat, 
became  interested  in  a  volume  which  hitherto  he  had  never 
seen,  but  of  which  he  had  heard  much. 

Perhaps  he  had  been  reading  for  some  time ;  there  was  a 
sound,  he  started  and  looked  up,  and  then  springing  from  his 
chair,  he  said,  "  Something  has  happened!  " 

Lady  Montfort  was  quite  pale,  and  the  expression  of  her 
countenance  distressed  ;  but  when  he  said  these  words  she  tried 
to  smile,  and  said,  "  No,  no,  nothing,  nothing —  at  least  nothing 
to  distress  you.  My  lord  hopes  you  will  be  able  to  dine  with 
him  to-day,  and  tell  him  all  the  news."  And  then  she  threw 
herself  into  a  chair  and  sighed.  "  I  should  like  to  have  a  good 
cry,  as  the  servants  say  —  but  I  never  could  cry.  I  will  tell  you 
all  about  it  in  a  moment.     You  were  very  good  not  to  go." 

It  seems  that  Lady  Montfort  saw  her  lord  before  the  agent, 
who  was  awaiting,  had  had  an  interview,  and  the  opportunity 
being  in  every  way  favorable,  she  felt  the  way  about  his  obtaining 
his  cousin's  seat  for  Endymion.  Lord  Montfort  quite  embraced 
the  proposal.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him.  He  had  no  idea 
that  Ferrars  contemplated  Parliament.  It  was  a  capital  idea. 
He  could  not  bear  reading  the  Parliament  reports,  and  yet  he 
liked  to  know  a  little  of  what  was  going  on.  Now,  when  any- 
thing happened  of  interest,  he  should  have  it  all  from  the  foun- 
tain-head. "And  you  must  tell  him,  Berengaria,"  he  continued, 
"  that  he  can  come  and  dine  here  whenever  he  likes,  in  boots. 
It  is  a  settled  thing  that  M.P.s  may  dine  in  boots.  I  think  it  a 
most  capital  plan.  Besides,  I  know  it  will  please  you,  you  will 
have  your  own  member." 

Then  he  rang  the  bell,  and  begged  Lady  Montfort  to  remain 


278  ENDYMION. 

and  see  the  agent.  Nothing  like  the  present  time  for  business. 
They  would  make  all  the  arrangements  at  once,  and  he  would 
ask  the  agent  to  dine  with  them  to-day,  and  so  meet  Mr.  Fer- 
rars. 

So  the  agent  entered,  and  it  was  all  explained  to  him,  calmly 
and  clearly,  briefly  by  my  lord,  but  with  fervent  amplification 
by  his  charming  wife.  The  agent  several  times  attempted  to 
make  a  remark,  but  for  some  time  he  was  unsuccessful ;  Lady 
Montfort  was  so  anxious  that  he  should  know  all  about  Mr. 
Ferrars,  the  most  rising  young  man  of  the  day,  the  son  of  the 
late  Right  Honorable  William  PiLt  Ferrars,  who,  had  he  not 
died,  would  probably  have  been  prime-minister,  and  so  on. 

"  Mr.  Ferrars  seems  to  be  everything  we  could  wish,"  said  the 
agent ;  "  and  as  you  say,  my  lady,  though  he  is  young,  so  was 
Mr.  Pitt,  and  I  have  little  doubt,  after  what  you  say,  my  lady, 
that  it  is  very  likely  he  will  in  time  become  as  eminent.  But 
what  I  came  up  to  town  particularly  to  impress  upon  my  lord  is 
that,  if  Mr.  Odo  will  not  stand  again,  we  are  in  a  very  great 
difficulty." 

"  Difficulty  about  what.?"  said  Lady  Montfort,  impatiently. 

"  Well,  my  lady,  if  Mr.  Odo  stands,  there  is  great  respect  for 
him.  The  other  side  would  not  disturb  him.  He  has  been 
member  for  some  years,  and  my  lord  has  been  very  liberal.  But 
the  truth  is,  if  Mr.  Odo  does  not  stand,  we  cannot  command 
the    seat." 

"  Not  command  the  seat !  Then  our  interest  must  have  been 
terribly  neglected." 

"  I  hope  not,  my  lady,"  said  the  agent.  "  The  fact  is,  the 
property  is  against  us." 

"  I  thought  it  was  all  my  lord's." 

"  No,  my  lady  ;  the  strong  interest  in  the  borough  is  my  Lord 
Beaumaris.  It  used  to  be  about  equal,  but  all  the  new  build- 
ings are  in  Lord  Beaumaris's  part  of  the  borough.  It  would 
not  have  signified  if  things  had  remained  as  in  the  old  days. 
The  grandfather  of  the  present  lord  was  a  Whig,  and  always 
supported  the  Montforts,  but  that's  all  changed.  The  present 
earl  has  gone  over  to  the  other  side,  and  I  hear  is  very  strong 
in  his  views." 

Lady  Montfort  had  to  communicate  all  this  to  Endymion. 
"  You  will  meet  the  agent  at  dinner,  but  he  did  not  give  me  a 
ray  of  hope.  Go  now;  indeed,  I  have  kept  you  too  long,  I  am 
so  stricken  that  I  can  scarcely  command  my  senses.  Only  think  of 
our  borough  being  stolen  from  us  by  Lord  Beaumaris !     I  have 


ENDYMION,  279 

brought  you  no  luck,  Endymion ;  I  have  done  you  nothing  but 
mischief;  I  am.  miserable.  If  you  had  attached  yourself  to 
Lady  Beaumaris,  you  might  have  been  a  member  of  Parlia- 
ment." 

CHAPTER   LXIX. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  great  news  being  no  longer  a  secret, 
the  utmost  excitement  prevailed  in  the  world  of  politics.  The 
Tories  had  quite  made  up  their  minds  that  the  ministry  would 
have  resigned,  and  were  sanguine,  under  such  circumstances,  of 
the  result.  The  Parliament  which  the  ministry  was  going  to 
dissolve  was  one  which  had  been  elected  by  their  counsel  and 
under  their  auspices.  It  was  unusual,  almost  unconstitutional, 
thus  to  terminate  the  body  they  had  created.  Nevertheless,  the 
Whigs,  never  too  delicate  in  such  matters,  thought  they  had  a 
chance,  and  determined  not  to  lose  it.  One  thing  they  immedi- 
ately succeeded  in,  and  that  was  frightening  their  opponents. 
A  dissolution  with  the  Tories  in  opposition  was  not  pleasant  to 
that  party,  but  a  dissolution  with  a  cry  of  cheap  bread  amid  a 
partially  starving  population  was  not  exactly  the  conjuncture  of 
providential  circumstances  which  had  long  been  watched  and 
wished  for,  and  cherished  and  coddled,  and  proclaimed  and 
promised  by  the  energetic  army  of  Conservative  wire-pullers. 

Mr.  Tadpole  was  very  restless  at  the  crowded  Carlton,  speak- 
ing to  every  one,  unhesitatingly  answering  every  question,  alike 
cajoling  and  dictatorial,  and  yet  all  the  time  watching  the  door 
of  the  morning-room  with  unquiet  anxiety. 

"They  will  never  be  able  to  get  up  the  steam.  Sir  Thomas, 
the  Chartists  are  against  them.  The  Chartists  will  never  submit 
to  anything  that  is  cheap.  In  spite  of  their  wild  fancies,  they 
are  real  John  Bulls.  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  see  a  gentleman 
I  must  speak  to,"  and  he  rushed  towards  the  door  as  Walder- 
share  entered. 

"Welh,  what  is  your  news  V  asked  Mr.  Tadpole,  affecting  un- 
concern. 

"  I  come  here  for  news,"  said  Waldershare.  "  This  is  my 
Academus,  and  you,  Tadpole,  are  my  Plato." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  the  words  of  a  wise  man,  listen  to  me.  If 
I  had  a  great  friend,  which  Mr.  Waldershare  probably  has,  who 
wants  a  great  place,  these  are  times  in  which  such  a  man  should 
show  his  power." 

'*  I  have  a  great  friend  whom  I  wish  to  have  a  great  place," 


28o  END  YMION. 

said  Waldershare,  "  and  I  think  he  is  quite  ready  to  show  his 
power,  if  he  knew  exactly  how  to  exercise  it." 

"  What  I  am  saying  to  you  is  not  known  to  a  single  person  in 
this  room,  and  to  only  one  out  of  it,  but  you  may  depend  upon 
what  I  say.  Lord  Montfort's  cousin  retires  from  Northborough 
to  sit  for  the  county.  They  think  they  can  nominate  his  suc- 
cessor as  a  matter  of  course.  A  delusion;  your  friend  Lord 
Beaumaris  can  command  the  seat." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  can  depend  on  Beaumaris,"  said  Walder- 
share, much  interested. 

"  I  depend  upon  you,"  said  Mr.  Tadpole,  with  a  glance  of  af- 
fectionate credulity.  "The  party  already  owes  you  much. 
This  will  be  a  crowning  service." 

"  Beaumaris  is  rather  a  queer  -cnan  to  deal  with,"  said  Walder- 
share;  "he  requires  gentle  handling." 

"All  the  world  says  he  consults  you  on  everything." 

"All  the  world,  as  usual,  is  wrong,"  said  Waldershare.  "  Lord 
Beaumaris  consults  no  one  except  Lady  Beaumaris." 

"  Well,  then,  we  shall  do,"  rejoined  Mr.  Tadpole,  triumphantly. 
"Our  man  that  I  want  him  to  return  is  a  connection  of  Lady 
Beaumaris,  a  Mr.  Rodney,  very  anxious  to  get  into  Parliament, 
and  rich.  I  do  not  know  who  he  is  exactly,  but  it  is  a  good 
name ;  say  a  cousin  of  Lord  Rodney  until  the  election  is  over, 
and  then  they  may  settle  it  as  they  like." 

"A  Mr.  Rodney,"  said  Waldershare,  musingly;  "well,  if  I 
hear  anything  I  will  let  you  know.  I  suppose  you  are  in  pretty 
good  spirits .?" 

"  I  should  like  a  little  sunshine.  A  cold  spring,  and  now  a 
wet  summer,  and  the  certainty  of  a  shocking  harvest,  combined 
with  manufacturing  distress  spreading  daily,  is  not  pleasant. 
But  the  English  are  a  discriminating  people.  They  will  hardly 
persuade  them  that  Sir  Robert  has  occasioned  the  bad  har- 
vests." 

"  The  present  men  are  clearly  responsible  for  all  that,"  said 
Waldershare. 

There  was  a  reception  at  Lady  Roehampton's  this  evening. 
Very  few  Tories  attended  it,  but  Lady  Beaumaris  was  there. 
She  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  showing  by  her  presence  how 
grateful  she  was  to  Myra  for  the  kindness  which  had  greeted 
Imogene  when  she  first  entered  society.  Endymion,  as  was  his 
custom  when  the  opportunity  offered,  rather  hung  about  Lady 
Beaumaris.  She  always  welcomed  him  with  unaffected  cordiality 
and  evident  pleasure.     He  talked  to  her,  and  then  gave  way  to 


ENDYMION.  281 

others,  and  then  came  and  talked  to  her  again,  and  then  he  pro- 
posed to  take  her  to  have  a  cuj)  of  lea,  and  she  assented  to  the 
proposal  with  a  brightening  eye  and  a  bewitching  smile. 

*'  I  suppose  your  friends  are  very  triumphant,  Lady  Beau- 
maris?" said  Endymion. 

"Yes;  they  naturally  are  very  excited.  I  confess  I  am  not 
myself." 

"  But  you  ought  to  be,"  said  Endymion.  "You  will  have  an 
immense  position.  I  should  think  Lord  Beaumaris  would  have 
any  office  he  chose,  and  yours  will  be  the  chief  house  of  the 
party." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  Lord  Beaumaris  would  care  to  have 
office,  and  I  hardly  think  any  office  would  suit  him.  As  for 
myself,  I  am  obliged  to  be  ambitious,  but  I  have  no  ambition, 
or  rather  I  would  say,  I  think  I  was  happier  when  we  all  seemed 
to  be  on  the  same  side." 

"Well,  those  were  happy  days,"  said  Endymion,  "and  these 
are  happy  days.  And  few  things  make  me  happier  than  to  see 
Lady  Beaumaris  admired  and  appreciated  by  every  one." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  call  me  Lady  Beaumaris.  That  may 
be,  and  indeed  perhaps  is,  necessary  in  society,  but  when  we 
are  alone,  I  prefer  being  called  by  a  name  which  once  you 
always  and  kindly  used." 

"  I  shall  always  love  the  name,"  said  Endymion,  "  and,"  he 
added  with  some  hesitation,  "  shall  always  love  her  who  bears  it." 

She  involuntarily  pressed  his  arm,  though  very  slightly;  and 
then  in  rather  a  hushed  and  hurried  tone  she  said,  "They  were 
talking  about  you  at  dinner  to-day.  I  fear  this  change  of  gov- 
ernment, if  there  is  to  be  one,  will  be  injurious  to  you — losing 
your  private  secretaryship  to  Mr.  Wilton,  and  perhaps  other 
things." 

"Fortune  of  war,"  said  Endymion;  "we  must  bear  these 
haps.  But  the  truth  is,  I  think  it  not  unlikely  there  may  be  a 
change  in  my  life  which  may  be  incompatible  with  retaining  my 
secretaryship  under  any  circumstances." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  be  married.'* "  she  said  quickly. 

"  Not  the  slightest  idea  of  such  an  event." 

"You  are  too  young  to  marry." 

"Well,  I  am  older  than  you." 

"Yes;  but  men  and  women  are  different  in  that  matter. 
Besides,  you  have  too  many  fair  friends  to  marry,  at  least  at 
present.     What  would  Lady  Roehampton  say.'" 

"  Well,  I  have  sometimes  thought  my  sister  wished  me  to  marry." 


282  END  YMION, 

"  But  then  there  are  others  who  are  not  sisters,  but  who  are 
equally  interested  in  your  welfare,"  said  Lady  Beaumaris  look- 
ing up  into  his  face  with  her  wondrous  eyes,  but  the  lashes  were 
so  long,  that  it  was  impossible  to  decide  whether  the  glance  was 
an  anxious  one  or  one  half  of  mockery. 

"  Well,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  marry,"  said  Endymion. 
"  The  change  in  my  life  I  was  alluding  to  is  one  by  no  means 
of  a  romantic  character.  I  have  some  thoughts  of  trying  my 
luck  on  the  hustings,  and  getting  into  Parliament." 

"  That  would  be  delightful,"  said  Lady  Beaumaris.  "  Do  you 
know  that  it  has  been  one  of  my  dreams  that  you  should  be  in 
Parliament  t " 

"  Ah !  dearest  Imogene,  for  you  said  I  might  call  you  Imo- 
gene,  you  must  take  care  what  you  say.  Remember  we  are, 
unhappily,  in  different  camps.  You  must  not  wish  me  success 
in  my  enterprise ;  quite  the  reverse ;  it  is  more  than  probable 
that  you  will  have  to  exert  all  your  influence  against  me ;  yes, 
canvass  against  me,  and  wear  hostile  ribbons,  and  use  all  your 
irresistible  charms  to  array  electors  against  me,  or  to  detach 
them  from  my  ranks." 

"  Even  in  jest,  you  ought  not  to  say  such  things,"  said  Lady 
Beaumaris. 

"  But  I  am  not  in  jest,  I  am  in  dreadful  earnest.  Only  this 
morning  I  was  offered  a  seat,  which  they  told  me  was  secure ; 
but  when  I  inquired  into  all  the  circumstances,  I  found  the 
interest  of  Lord  Beaumaris  so  great  that  it  would  be  folly  for 
me  to  attempt  it." 

"  What  seat }  "  inquired  Lady  Beaumaris,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Northborough,"  said  Endymion,  "  now  held  by  Lord  Mont- 
fort's  cousin,  who  is  to  come  in  for  his  county.  The  seat  was 
offered  to  me,  and  I  was  told  I  was  to  be  returned  without 
opposition." 

"Lady  Montfort  offered  it  to  you.?"  asked  Imogene. 

"  She  interested  herself  for  me,  and  Lord  Montfort  approved 
the  suggestion.  It  was  described  to  me  as  a  family  seat,  but 
when  I  looked  into  the  matter,  I  found  that  Lord  Beaumaris 
was  more  powerful  than  Lord  Montfort." 

"I  thought  that  Lady  Montfort  was  irresistible,"  said  Imo- 
gene ;  "  she  carries  all  before  her  in  society." 

"  Society  and  politics  have  much  to  do  with  each  other,  but 
they  are  not  identical.  In  the  present  case  Lady  Montfort  is 
powerless." 


ENDYMION.  283 

"  And  have  you  formally  abandoned  the  seat  ? "  inquired 
Lady  Beaumaris. 

"Not  formally  abandoned  it;  that  was  not  necessary;  but  I 
have  dismissed  it  from  my  mind,  and  for  some  time  have  been 
trying  to  find  another  seat,  but  hitherto  without  success.  In 
short,  in  these  days  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  step  into  Parlia- 
ment as  if  you  were  stepping  into  a  club." 

"  If  I  could  do  anything,  however  little } "  said  Imogene ; 
"  perhaps  Lady  Montfort  would  not  like  me  to  interfere .? " 

"  Why  not  .>  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  know,"  and  then,  after  some  hesitation,  she 
added,  "  Is  she  jealous  }  " 

"Jealous  !  why  should  she  be  jealous  .?  " 

"  Perhaps  she  has  had  no  cause." 

"  You  know  Lady  Montfort.  She  is  a  woman  of  quick  and 
brilliant  feeling,  the  best  of  friends  and  a  dauntless  foe.  Her 
kindness  to  me  from  the  first  moment  I  made  her  acquaint- 
ance has  been  inexpressible,  and  I  sincerely  believe  she  is 
most  anxious  to  serve  me.  But  our  party  is  not  very  popular 
at  present ;  there  is  no  doubt  the  country  is  against  us.  It  is 
tired  of  us.  I  feel  myself  the  general  election  will  be  disas- 
trous. Liberal  seats  are  not  abundant  just  now;  quite  the 
reverse ;  and  though  Lady  Montfort  has  done  more  than  any 
one  could  under  the  circumstances,  I  feel  persuaded,  though 
you  think  her  irresistible,  she  will  not  succeed." 

"  I  hardly  know  her,"  said  Imogene.  "  The  world  considers 
her  irresistible,  and  I  think  you  do.  Nevertheless,  I  wish  she 
could  have  had  her  way  in  this  matter,  and  I  think  it  quite  a 
pity  that  Northborough  has  turned  out  not  to  be  a  family  seat.'* 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

There  was  a  dinner-party  at  Mr.  Neuchatel's,  to  which  none 
Ivere  asked  but  the  high  government  clique.  It  was  the  last 
dinner  before  the  dissolution :  "  The  dinner  of  consolation  or 
hope,"  said  Lord  Roehampton.  Lady  Montfort  was  to  be  one 
of  the  guests.  She  was  dressed  and  her  carriage  in  the  court- 
yard, and  she  had  just  gone  in  to  see  her  lord  before  she  de- 
parted. 

Lord  Montfort  was  extremely  fond  of  jewels,  and  held  that 
you  could  not  see  them  to  advantage,  or  fairly  judge  of  their 
water  or  color,  except  on  a  beautiful  woman.     When  his  wife 


284  END  YMION. 

was  in  grand  toilet,  and  he  was  under  the  same  roof,  he  liked 
her  to  call  on  him  on  her  way  to  her  carriage  that  he  might  see 
her  flashing  rivieres  and  tiaras,  the  lustre  of  her  huge  pearls 
and  the  splendor  of  her  emeralds  and  sapphires  and  rubies. 

"  Well,  Berengaria,"  he  said  in  a  playful  tone,  "  you  look 
divine.  Never  dine  out  again  in  a  high  dress.  It  distresses 
me.  Bertolini  was  the  only  man  who  ever  caught  the  tournure 
of  your  shoulders,  and  yet  I  am  not  altogether  satisfied  with 
his  work.  So  you  are  going  to  dine  with  that  good  Neuchatel. 
Remember  me  kindly  to  him.  There  are  few  men  I  like  better. 
He  is  so  sensible,  knows  so  much,  and  so  much  of  what  is  going 
on.  I  should  have  liked  very  much  to  have  dined  with  him, 
but  he  is  aware  of  my  unfortunate  state.  Besides,  my  dear,  if 
I  were  better  I  should  not  have  strength  for  his  dinners.  They 
are  really  banquets ;  I  cannot  stand  those  ortolans  stuffed  with 
truffles  and  those  truffles  stuffed  with  ortolans.  Perhaps  he 
will  come  and  dine  with  us  some  day  off  a  joint." 

"  The  Queen  of  Mesopotamia  will  be  here  next  week,  Simon, 
and  we  must  really  give  her  what  you  call  a  joint,  and  then  we 
can  ask  the  Neuchatels  and  a  few  other  people 

"  I  was  in  hopes  the  dissolution  would  have  carried  every- 
body away,"  said  Lord  Montfort  rather  woefully.  "  I  wish  the 
Queen  of  Mesopotamia  were  a  candidate  lor  some  borough  ;  I 
think  she  would  rather  like  it." 

"  Well,  we  could  not  return  her,  Simon ;  do  not  touch  on  the 
subject.     But  what  have  you  got  to  amuse  you  to-day.?" 

"  Oh !  I  shall  do  very  well.  I  have  got  the  head  of  the 
French  detective  police  to  dine  with  me,  and  another  man  or 
two.  Besides,  I  have  got  here  a  most  amusing  book,  '  Topsy 
Turvy ;'  it  comes  out  in  numbers.  I  like  books  that  come  out 
in  numbers,  as  there  is  a  little  suspense,  and  you  cannot  deprive 
yourself  of  all  interest  by  glancing  at  the  last  page  of  the  last 
volume.  I  think  you  must  read  '  Topsy  Turvy,'  Berengaria.  1 
am  mistaken  if  you  do  not  hear  of  it.  It  is  very  cynical,  which 
authors  who  know  a  little  of  the  world  are  apt  to  be,  and  every^ 
thing  is  exaggerated,  which  is  another  of  their  faults  when  they 
are  only  a  trifle  acquainted  with  manners.  A  little  knowledge 
of  the  world  is  a  very  dangerous  thing,  especially  in  literature. 
But  it  is  clever,  and  the  man  writes  a  capital  style ;  and  style  is 
everything,  especially  in  fiction." 

"  And  what  is  the  name  of  the  writer,  Simon  }  " 

**  You  never  heard  of  it ;  I  never  did ;  but  my  secretary,  who 
lives  much  in  Bohemia,  and  is  a  member  of  the  Cosmopolitan 


ENDYMION.  285 

and  knows  everything,  tells  me  he  has  written  some  things  before, 
but  they  did  not  succeed.  His  name  is  St.  Barbe.  I  should 
like  to  ask  him  to  dinner  if  I  knew  how  to  get  at  him." 

"Well,  adieu,  Simon,"  and,  with  an  agitated  heart,  though 
apparent  calmness,  she  touched  his  forehead  with  her  lips.  "  I 
expect  an  unsatisfactory  dinner." 

"  Adieu,  and  if  you  meet  poor  Ferrars,  which  I  dare  say  you 
will,  tell  him  to  keep  up  his  spirits.  The  world  is  a  wheel,  and 
it  will  all  come  round  right." 

The  dinner  ought  not  to  have  been  unsatisfactory,  for  though 
there  was  no  novelty  among  the  guests,  they  were  all  clever  and 
distinguished  persons,  and  united  by  entire  sympathy.  Several 
of  the  ministers  were  there,  and  the  Roehamptons,  and  Mr.  Sid- 
ney Wilton,  and  Endymion  was  also  a  guest.  But  the  general 
tone  was  a  little  affected  and  unnatural ;  forced  gayety,  and  a 
levity  which  displeased  Lady  Montfort,  who  fancied  she  was 
unhappy  because  the  country  was  going  to  be  ruined,  but  whose 
real  cause  of  dissatisfaction  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  was  the 
affair  of  "  the  family  seat."  Her  hero.  Lord  Roehampton,  par- 
ticularly, did  not  please  her  to-day.  She  thought  him  flippant 
and  in  bad  taste,  merely  because  he  would  not  look  dismal  and 
talk  gloomily. 

"  I  think  we  shall  do  very  well,"  he  said.  "  What  cry  can  be 
better  than  that  of  cheap  bread  }  It  gives  one  an  appetite  at 
once.' 

"  But  the  Corn-Law  League  says  your  bread  will  not  be 
cheap,"  said  Melchior  Neuchatel.  • 

"  I  wonder  whether  the  League  has  really  any  power  in  the 
constituencies,"  said  Lord  Roehampton.  "  I  doubt  it.  They 
may  have  in  time,  but  then  in  the  interval  trade  will  revive.  I 
have  just  been  reading  Mr.  Thornberry's  speech.  We  shall 
hear  more  of  that  man.  You  will  not  be  troubled  about  any  of 
your  seats }  "  he  said,  in  a  lower  tone  of  sympathy,  addressing 
Mrs.  Neuchatel,  who  was  his  immediate  neighbor. 

"  Our  seats  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Neuchatel,  as  if  waking  from  a 
dream.  "  Oh,  I  know  nothing  about  them,  nor  do  I  understand 
why  there  is  a  dissolution.  I  trust  that  Parliament  will  not  be 
dissolved  without  voting  the  money  for  the  observation  of  the 
transit  of  Venus." 

*'  I  think  the  Roman  Catholic  vote  will  carry  us  through," 
said  a  minister. 

"  Talking  of  Roman  Catholics,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  is  it  true 
that  Penruddock  has  gone  over  to  Rome  .'* " 


286  ENDYMION, 

"  No  truth  in  it,"  replied  a  colleague.  "  He  has  gone  to 
Rome — there  is  no  doubt  of  that,  and  he  has  been  there  some 
time,  but  only  for  distraction.     He  had  overworked  himself." 

"  He  might  have  been  a  dean  if  he  had  been  a  practical! 
man,"  whispered  Lady  Montfort  to  Mr.  Neuchatel,  "  and  on 
the  high-road  to  a  bishopric." 

"  That  is  what  we  want.  Lady  Montfort,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel ; 
"  we  want  a  few  practical  men.  If  we  had  a  practical  man  as 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  we  should  not  have  been  in  the^ 
scrape  in  which  we  now  are." 

"  It  is  not  likely  that  Penruddock  will  leave  the  Church  with 
a  change  of  government  possibly  impending.  We  could  do 
nothing  for  him  with  his  views,  but  he  will  wait  for  Peel." 

"Oh!  Peel  will  never  stand  those  high-fliers.  He  put  the' 
Church  into  a  Lay  Commission  during  his  last  government." 

"  Penruddock  will  never  give  up  Anglicanism  while  there  is 
a  chance  of  becoming  a  Laud.  When  that  chance  vanishes, 
trust  my  word,  Penruddock  will  make  his  bow  to  the  Vatican." 

"  Well,  I  must  say,"  said  Lord  Roehampton,  "  if  I  were  a 
clergyman  I  should  be  a  Roman  Catholic." 

*'  Then  you  could  not  marry.  What  a  compliment  to  Lady 
Roehampton !  " 

"  Nay ;  It  is  because  I  could  not  marry  that  I  am  not  a 
clergyman." 

Endymion  had  taken  Adriana  down  to  dinner.  She  looked 
very  well,  and  was  more  talkative  than  usual. 

"  I  fear  it  will  be  a  very  great  confusion — this  general  elec- 
tion," she  said.  "  Papa  was  telling  us  that  you  think  of  being 
a  candidate." 

*'  I  am  a  candidate,  but  without  a  seat  to  captivate  at  present," 
said  Endymion ;  "  but  I  am  not  without  hopes  of  making  some 
arrangement." 

"  Well,  you  must  tell  me  what  your  colors  are." 

"  And  will  you  wear  them  ? " 

"Most  certainly;  and  I  will  work  you  a  banner  if  you  be 
victorious." 

"  I  think  I  must  win  with  such  a  prospect." 

"I  hope  you  will  v/in  in  everything." 

When  the  ladies  retired,  Berengaria  came  and  sat  by  the  side 
of  Lady  Roehampton. 

"  What  a  dreary  dinner !  "  she  said. 

"  Do  you  think  so  t  " 


ENDYMION.  287 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  was  my  own  fault.  Perhaps  I  am  not  in 
good  cue,  but  everything  seems  to  me  to  go  wrong." 

"  Things  sometimes  do  go  wrong,  but  then  they  get  right." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  think  anything  will  ever  get  right  with  me." 

"  Dear  Lady  Montfort,  how  can  you  say  such  things  !  You 
•who  have,  and  have  always  had,  the  world  at  your  feet — and 
always  will  have." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  having  the  world  at  my 
feet.  It  seems  to  me  I  have  no  power  whatever — I  can  do 
nothing.  I  am  vexed  about  this  business  of  your  brother. 
Our  people  are  so  stupid.  They  have  no  resource.  When  I  go 
to  them  and  ask  for  a  seat,  I  expect  a  seat,  as  I  would  a  shawl 
at  Howell  &  James's  if  I  asked  for  one.  Instead  of  that  they 
only  make  difficulties.  What  our  party  wants  is  a  Mr.  Tad- 
pole; he  out-manoeuvres  them  in  every  corner." 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  deeply  disappointed — deeply  pained,"  said 
Lady  Roehampton,  "  if  Endymion  is  not  in  this  Parliament, 
but  if  we  fail  I  will  not  utterly  despair.  I  will  continue  to  do 
what  I  have  done  all  my  life,  exert  my  utmost  will  and  power 
to  advance  him." 

"I  thought  I  had  will  and  power,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "but 
the  conceit  is  taken  out  of  me.  Your  brother  was  to  me  a 
source  of  great  interest  from  the  first  moment  that  I  knew  him. 
His  future  was  an  object  in  life,  and  I  thought  I  could  mould  it. 
What  a  mistake !  Instead  of  making  his  fortune  I  have  only 
dissipated  his  life." 

"  You  have  been  to  him  the  kindest  and  the  most  valuable  of 
friends,  and  he  feels  it." 

"  It  is  no  use  being  kind,  and  I  am  valuable  to  no  one.  I 
often  think  if  I  disappeared  to-morrow  no  one  would  miss  me." 

"  You  are  in  a  morbid  mood,  dear  lady.  To-morrow,  per- 
haps, everything  will  be  right,  and  then  you  will  feel  that  you 
are  surrounded  by  devoted  friends,  and  by  a  husband  who 
adores  you." 

Lady  Montfort  gave  a  scrutinizing  glance  at  Lady  Roehamp- 
ton as  she  said  this,  then  shook  her  head.  "Ah  !  there  it  is, 
dear  Myra.  You  judge  from  your  own  happiness;  you  do  not 
know  Lord  Montfort.  You  know  how  I  love  him,  but  I  am 
perfectly  convinced  he  prefers  my  letters  to  my  society." 

"  You  see  what  it  is  to  be  a  Madame  de  Sevigne,"  said  Lady 
Roehampton,  trying  to  give  a  playful  tone  to  the  conversation. 

"You  jest,"  said  Lady  Montfort;  "I  am  quite  serious.  No 
one  can  deceive  me ;  would  that  they  could  !     I  have  the  fatal 


288  END  YMION. 

gift  of  reading  persons,  and  penetrating  motives,  however  deep 
or  complicated  their  character,  and  what  I  tell  you  about  Lord 
Montfort  is  unhappily  too  true." 

In  the  meantime,  while  this  interesting  conversation  was  tak- 
ing place,  the  gentleman  who  had  been  the  object  of  Lady 
Montfort 's  eulogium,  the  gentleman  who  always  out-manoeuvred 
her  friends  in  every  corner,  was,  though  it  was  approaching 
midnight,  walking  up  and  down  Carlton  Terrace  with  an  agitated 
and  indignant  countenance,  and  not  alone. 

"  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Waldershare,  I  know  it ;  I  have  it  almost 
from  Lord  Beaumaris  himself;  he  has  declined  to  support  our 
man,  and  no  doubt  will  give  his  influence  to  the  enemy." 

"I  do  not  believe  that  Lord  Beaumaris  has  made  any  engage- 
ment whatever." 

"  A  pretty  state  of  affairs,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Tadpole.  "  I  do 
not  know  what  the  world  has  come  to.  Here  are  gentlemen  ex- 
pecting high  places  in  the  household,  and  under-secretary- 
ships  of  state,  and  actually  giving  away  our  seats  to  our  oppo- 
nents." 

"  There  is  some  family  engagement  about  this  seat  between 
the  houses  of  Beaumaris  and  Montfort,  and  Lord  Beaumaris, 
who  is  a  young  man,  and  who  does  not  know  as  much  about 
these  things  as  you  and  I  do,  naturally  wants  not  to  make  a 
mistake.  But  he  has  promised  nothing  and  nobody.  I  know, 
I  might  almost  say  I  saw  the  letter,  that  he  wrote  to  Lord 
Montfort  this  day,  asking  for  an  interview  to-morrow  morning 
on  the  matter,  and  Lord  Montfort  has  given  him  an  appoint- 
ment for  to-morrow.     This  I  know." 

"Well,  I  must  leave  it  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Tadpole.  "You 
must  remember  what  we  are  fighting  for.  The  constitution  is 
at  stake." 

"And  the  Church,"  said  Waldershare. 

"  And  the  landed  interest,  you  may  rely  upon  it,"  said  Mr.  Tad- 
pole. 

"  And  your  Lordship  of  the  Treasury  in  posse^  Tadpole. 
Truly  it  is  a  great  stake." 


CHAPTER   LXXL 

The  interview  between  the  heads  of  the  two  great  houses  of 
Montfort  and  Beaumaris,  on  which  the  fate  of  a  ministry  might 
depend,  for  it  should  always  be  recollected  that  it  was  only  by 


ENDYMION,  289 

a  majority  of  one  that  Sir  Robert  Peel  had  necessitated  the  dis- 
sohition  of  Parliament,  was  not  carried  on  exactly  in  the  spirit 
and  with  the  means  which  would  have  occurred  to  and  been 
practised  by  the  race  of  Tadpoles  and  Tapers. 

Lord  Beaumaris  was  a  very  young  man,  handsome,  extremely 
shy,  and  one  who  had  only  very  recently  mixed  with  the  circle 
in  which  he  was  born.  It  was  under  the  influence  of  Imogene 
that,  in  soliciting  an  interview  with  Lord  Montfort,  he  had 
taken  for  him  an  unusual,  not  to  say  unprecedented,  step.  He 
had  conjured  up  to  himself  in  Lord  Montfort  the  apparition  of 
a  haughty  Whig  peer,  proud  of  his  order,  prouder  of  his  party, 
and  not  over-prejudiced  in  favor  of  one  who  had  quitted  those 
sacred  ranks,  freezing  with  arrogant  reserve  and  condescending 
politeness.  In  short.  Lord  Beaumaris  was  extremely  nervous 
when,  ushered  by  many  servants  through  many  chambers,  there 
came  forward  to  receive  him  the  most  sweetly  mannered  gentle- 
man alive,  who  not  only  gave  him  his  hand,  but  retained  his 
guest's,  saying,  ""  We  are  a  sort  of  cousins,  I  believe,  and  ought 
to  have  been  acquainted  before,  but  you  know,  perhaps,  my 
wretched  state;"  though  what  that  was  nobody  exactly  did 
know,  particularly  as  Lord  Montfort  was  sometimes  seen  wad- 
ing in  streams  breast-high  while  throwing  his  skilful  line  over 
the  rushing  waters.  "  I  remember  your  grandfather,"  he  said, 
"  and  with  good  cause.  He  pouched  me  at  Harrow,  and  it  was 
the  largest  pouch  I  ever  had.  One  does  not  forget  the  first 
time  one  had  a  five-pound  note." 

And  then  when  Lord  Beaumaris,  blushing  and  with  much 
hesitation,  had  stated  the  occasion  of  his  asking  for  the  inter- 
view, that  they  might  settle  together  about  the  representation 
of  Northborough  in  harmony  with  the  old  understanding  be- 
tween the  families  which  he  trusted  would  always  be  main- 
tained, Lord  Montfort  assured  him  that  he  was  personally 
obliged  to  him  by  his  always  supporting  Odo,  regretted  that 
Odo  would  retire,  and  then  said  if  Lord  Beaumaris  had  any 
brother,  cousin,  or  friend  to  bring  forward,  he  need  hardly 
say  Lord  Beaumaris  might  count  upon  him.  "  I  am  a  Whig," 
he  continued,  "  and  so  was  your  father,  but  I  am  not  particu- 
larly pleased  with  the  sayings  and  doings  of  my  people.  Be- 
tween ourselves,  I  think  they  have  been  in  a  little  too  long,  and 
if  they  do  anything  very  strong  —  if,  for  instance,  they  give 
office  to  O'Connell —  I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if  I  we*re 
myself  to  sit  on  the  cross-benches." 

It  seems  there  was  no  mernber  of  the  Beaumaris  family  who 


290  ENDYMION. 

wished  at  this  juncture  to  come  forward,  and  being  assured  of 
this,  Lord  Montfort  remarked  there  was  a  young  man  of  prom- 
ise who  much  wished  to  enter  the  House  of  Commons,  not 
unknown  he  beUeved  to  Lord  Beaumaris,  and  that  was  Mr. 
Ferrars.  He  was  the  son  of  a  distinguished  man,  now  de- 
parted, who  'in  his  day  had  been  a  minister  of  state.  Lord 
Montfort  was  quite  ready  to  support  Mr.  Ferrars,  if  Lord  Beau- 
maris approved  of  the  selection,  bu  the  placed  himself  entirely 
in  his  hands. 

Lord  Beaumaris,  blushing,  said  he  quite  approved  of  the 
selection ;  knew  Mr.  Ferrars  very  well,  and  liked  him  very 
much ;  and,  if  Lord  Montfort  sanctioned  it,  would  speak  to 
Mr.  Ferrars  himself.  He  believed  Mr.  Ferrars  was  a  Liberal ; 
but  he  agreed  with  Lord  Montfort  that  in  these  days  gentlemen 
must  be  all  of  the  same  opinion,  if  not  on  the  same  side,  and 
so  on.  And  then  they  talked  of  fishing,  appropriately  to  a 
book  of  very  curious  flies  that  was  on  the  table;  and  they 
agreed,  if  possible,  to  fish  together  in  some  famous  waters  that 
Lord  Beaumaris  had  in  Hampshire;  and  then,  as  he  was  saying 
farewell,  Lord  Montfort  added,  "Although  I  never  pay  visits, 
because  really  in  my  wretched  state  I  cannot,  there  is  no  reason 
why  our  wives  should  not  know  each  other.  Will  you  permit 
Lady  Montfort  to  have  the  honor  of  paying  her  respects  to 
Lady  Beaumaris.?" 

Talleyrand  or  Metternich  could  not  have  conducted  an  inter- 
view more  skilfully.  But  these  were  just  the  things  that  Lord 
Montfort  did  not  dislike  doing.  His  great  good-nature  was  not 
disturbed  by  a  single  inconvenient  circumstance,  and  he  en- 
joyed the  sense  of  his  adroitness. 

The  same  day  the  cards  of  Lord  and  Lady  Montfort  were 
sent  in  to  Piccadilly  Terrace,  and  on  the  next  day  the  cards  of 
Lord  and  Lady  Beaumaris  were  returned  to  Montfort  House. 
And  on  the  following  day  Lady  Montfort,  accompanied  by  Lady 
Roehampton,  would  find  Lady  Beaumaris  at  home ;  and  after  a 
charming  visit  in  which  Lady  Montfort,  though  natural  to  the 
last  degree,  displayed  every  quality  which  could  fascinate  even 
a  woman,  when  she  put  her  hand  in  that  of  Imogene  to  say 
farewell,  she  added,  "  I  am  delighted  to  find  that  we  are 
cousins." 

A  few  days  after  this  interview  Parliament  was  dissolved.  It 
was  the  middle  of  a  wet  June,  and  the  season  received  its  coup 
de  grdce.  Although  Endymion  had  no  rival,  and  apparently  no 
prospect  of  a  contest,  his  labors  as  a  candidate  were  not  slight. 


ENDYMION,  291 

The  constituency  was  numerous,  and  every  member  of  it  ex- 
pected to  be  called  upon.  To  each  Mr.  Ferrars  had  to  expound 
his  political  views,  and  to  receive  from  each  a  cordial  assurance 
or  a  churlish  criticism.  All  this  he  did  and  endured,  accompa- 
nied by  about  fifty  of  the  principal  inhabitants — members  of  his 
committee — who  insisted  on  never  leaving  his  side,  and  prompt- 
ing him  at  every  new  door  which  he  entered  with  contradictory 
reports  of  the  political  opinions  of  the  indwellers,  or  confiden- 
tial intimations  how  they  were  to  be  managed  and  addressed. 

The  principal  and  most  laborious  incidents  of  the  day  were 
festivals,  which  they  styled  mncheons,  when  the  candidate  and 
the  ambulatory  committee  were  quartered  on  some  principal 
citizen  with  an  elaborate  banquet  of  several  courses,  and  in 
which  Mr.  Ferrars*  health  was  always  pledged  in  sparkling 
bumpers.  After  the  luncheon  came  two  or  three  more  hours  of 
what  was  called  canvassing ;  then,  in  a  state  of  horrible  reple- 
tion, the  fortunate  candidate  who  had  no  contest  had  to  dine 
with  another  principal  citizen,  with  real  turtle  soup  and  gigantic 
turbots,  entrees  in  the  shape  of  volcanic  curries,  and  rigid  veni- 
son, sent  as  a  complimerrt  by  a  neighboring  peer.  This  last 
ceremony  was  necessarily  hurried,  as  Endymion  had  every 
night  ta  address,  in  some  ward,  a  body  of  the  electors. 

When  thi's  had  been  going  on  for  a  few  days  the  borough  was 
suddenly  placarded  with  posting-bills  in  colossal  characters  of 
true  blue,  warning  the  conservative  electors  not  to  promise  their 
votes,  as  a  distinguished  candidate  of  the  right  sort  would  cer- 
tainly come  forward.  At  the  same  time  there  was  a  paragraph 
in  a  local  journal  that  a  member  of  a  noble  family,  illustrious 
in  the  naval  annals  of  the  country,  would,  if  sufficiently  sup- 
ported, solicit  the  suffrages  of  the  independent  electors. 

"  We  think,  by  the  allusion  to  the  navy,  that  it  must  be  Mr. 
Hood,  of  Acreley,"  said  Lord  Beaumaris's  agent  to  Mr.  Ferrars, 
"  but  he  has  not  the  ghost  of  a  chance.  I  will  ride  over  and 
see  him  in  the  course  of  the  day." 

This  placard  was,  of  course,  Mr.  Tadpole's  last  effort;  but 
that  worthy  gentleman  soon  forgot  his  mortification  about 
Northborough  in  the  general  triumph  of  his  party.  The  Whigs 
were  nowhere,  though  Mr.  Ferrars  was  returned  without  oppo- 
sition, and  in  the  mont«h  of  August  —  still  wondering  at  the 
rapid,  strange,  and  even  mysterious  incidents  that  had  so  sud- 
denly and  so  swiftly  changed  his  position»and  prospects  in  life — 
took  his  seat  in  that  House  in  whose  galleries  he  had  so  long 
humbly  attended  as  the  private  secretary  of  a  cabinet  minister. 


292  ENDYMIOlSr. 

His  friends  were  still  in  office,  though  the  country  had  sent 
up  a  majority  of  ninety  against  them,  and  Endymion  took  his 
seat  behind  the  Treasury  bench,  and  exactly  behind  Lord  Roe- 
hampton.  The  debate  on  the  address  was  protracted  for  three 
nights,  and  then  they  divided  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  then  all  was  over.  Lord  Roehampton,  who  had  vindicate*d 
the  ministry  with  admirable  vigor  and  felicity,  turned  round  to 
Endymion,  and,  smiling,  said  in  the  sweetest  tone,  "  I  did  not 
enlarge  on  our  greatest  feat — namely,  that  we  had  governed  the 
country  for  two  years  without  a  majority.  Peel  would  never 
have  had  the  pluck  to  do  that." 

Notwithstanding  the  backslidings  of  Lord  Beaumaris  and  the 
unprincipled  conduct  of  Mr.  Waldershare,  they  were  both  re- 
warded as  the  latter  gentleman  projected  —  Lord  Beaumaris 
accepted  a  high  post  in  the  Household,  and  Mr.  Waldershare 
was  appointed  Under-secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs. 
Tadpole  was  a  little  glum  about  it,  but  it  was  inevitable.  "  The 
fact  is,"  as  the  world  agreed, "  Lady  Beaumaris  is  the  only  Tory 
woman.     They  have  nobody  who  can  receive  except  her." 

The  changes  in  the  House  of  Commons  were  still  greater 
than  those  in  the  administration.  Never  were  so  many  new 
members,  and  Endymion  watched  them,  during  the  first  days, 
and  before  the  debate  on  the  address,  taking  the  oaths  at  the 
table  in  batches,  with  much  interest.  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  was 
returned,  and  his  brother,  Mr.  Tremaine  Bertie.  Job  Thorn- 
berry  was  member  for  a  manufacturing  town,  with  which  he 
was  not  otherwise  connected.  Hortensius  was  successful,  and 
Mr.  Vigo,  for  a  metropolitan  borough ;  but  what  pleased  Endy- 
mion more  than  anything  was  the  return  of  his  valued  friend 
Trenchard,  who,  a  short  time  before,  had  acceded  to  the  paternal 
estate.  All  these  gentlemen  were  Liberals,  and  were  destined 
to  sit  on  the  same  side  of  the  House  as  Endymion. 

After  the  fatal  vote  the  Whigs  all  left  town.  Society  in  gen- 
.eral  had  been  previously  greatly  dispersed,  but  Parliament  had 
to  remain  sitting  until  October. 

"  We  are  going  to  Princedown,"  Lady  Montfort  said,  one 
day,  to  Endymion,  "  and  we  had  counted  on  seeing  you  there ; 
but  I  have  been  thinking  much  of  your  position  since,  and  I  am 
persuaded  that  we  must  sacrifice  pleasure  to  higher  objects. 
This  is  really  a  crisis  in  your  life,  and  much,  perhaps  everything, 
depends  on  your  not  making  a  mistake  now.  What  I  want  to 
see  you  is  a  great  statesman.  This  is  a  political-economy  Par- 
liament, both  sides  alike  thinking  of  the  price  of  corn  and  all 


END  YMION.  293 

that.  Finance  and  commerce  are  everybody's  subjects,  and  are 
most  convenient  to  make  speeches  about  for  men  who  cannot 
speak  French  and  who  have  had  no  education.  Real  poHtics 
are  the  possession  and  distribution  of  power.  I  want  to  see 
you  give  your  mind  to  foreign  affairs.  There  you  will  have  no 
rivals.  There  are  a  great  many  subjects  which  Lord  Roehampton 
cannot  take  up,  but  which  you  could  very  properly,  and  you 
will  have  always  the  benefit  of  his  counsel,  and,  when  neces- 
sary, his  parliamentary  assistance ;  but  foreign  affairs  are  not  to 
be  mastered  by  mere  reading.  Bookworms  do  not  make  chan- 
cellors of  state.  You  must  become  acquainted  with  the  great 
actors  in  the  great  scene.  There  is  nothing  like  personal 
knowledge  of  the  individuals  who  control  the  high  affairs. 
That  has  made  the  fortune  of  Lord  Roehampton.  What  I 
think  you  ought  to  do,  without  doubt  ought  to  do,  is  to  take 
advantage  of  this  long  interval  before  the  meeting  of  Parlia- 
ment, and  go  to  Paris.  Paris  is  now  the  capital  of  diplomacy. 
It  is  not  the  best  time  of  year  to  go  there,  but  you  will  meet  a 
great  many  people  of  the  diplomatic  world,  and,  if  the  oppor- 
tunity offers,  you  can  vary  the  scene,  and  go  to  some  baths 
which  princes  and  ministers  frequent.  The  Count  of  Ferroll  is 
now  at  Paris,  and  minister  for  his  court.  You  know  him  ;  that 
is  well.  But  he  is  my  greatest  friend,  and,  as  you  know,  we 
habitually  correspond.  He  will  do  everything  /or  you,  I  am 
sure,  for  my  sake.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  separated  ;  I  do  not 
wish  to  conceal  that ;  I  should  have  enjoyed  your'  society  at 
Princedown,  but  I  am  doing  right,  and  you  will  some  day  thank 
me  for  it.  We  must  soften  the  pang  of  separation  by  writing 
to  each  other  every  day,  so  when  we  meet  again  it  will  only  be 
as  if  we  had  parted  yesterday.  Besides,  who  knows ;  I  may 
run  over  myself  to  Paris  in  the  winter.  My  lord  always  liked 
Paris ;  the  only  place  he  ever  did,  but  I  am  not  very  sanguine 
he  will  go ;  he  is  so  afraid  of  being  asked  to  dinner  by  our  am- 
bassador." 

CHAPTER  LXXIL 

In  all  lives,  the  highest  and  the  humblest,  there  is  a  crisis  in 
the  formation  of  character  and  in  the  bent  of  the  disposition. 
It  comes  from  many  causes,  and  from  some  which,  on  the  sur- 
face, are  apparently  even  trivial.  It  may  be  a  book,  a  speech, 
a  sermon ;  a  man  or  a  woman  ;  a  great  misfortune  or  a  burst  of 
prosperity.  '  But  the  result  is  the  same  —  a  sudden  revelation 


294  END  YMION. 

to  ourselves  of  our  secret  purpose,  and  a  recognition  of  our, 
perhaps,  long-shadowed  but  now  masterful  convictions. 

A  crisis  of  this  kind  occurred  to  Endymion  the  day  when  he 
returned  to  his  chambers  after  having  taken  the  oaths  and  his 
seat  in  the  House  of  Commons.  He  felt  the  necessity  of  being 
alone.  For  nearly  the  last  three  months'he  had  been  the  excited 
actor  in  a  strange  and  even  mysterious  drama.  There  had  been 
for  him  no  time  to  reflect ;  all  he  could  aim  at  was  to  compre- 
hend and,  if  possible,  control  the  present  and  urgent  contin- 
gency. He  had  been  called  upon,  almost  unceasingly,  to  do  or 
to  say  something  sudden  and  unexpected ;  and  it  was  only  now, 
when  the  crest  of  the  ascent  had  been  reached,  that  he  could 
look  around  him  and  consider  the  new  world  opening  to  his 
gaze. 

The  greatest  opportunity  that  can  be  offered  to  an  English- 
man was  now  his — a  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons.  It  was 
his  almost  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth,  and  yet  after  advantage- 
ous years  of  labor  and  political  training,  and  it  was  combined 
with  a  material  independence  on  which  he  never  could  have 
counted.  A  love  of  power,  a  passion  for  distinction,  a  noble 
pride,  which  had  been  native  to  his  early  disposition,  but  which 
had  apparently  been  crushed  by  the  enormous  sorrows  and 
misfortunes  of  his  childhood,  and  which  had  vanished,  as  it 
were,  before  the  sweetness  of  that  domestic  love  which  had 
been  the  solace  of  his  adversity,  now  again  stirred  their  dim 
and  mighty  forms  in  his  renovated  and,  as  it  were,  inspired  con- 
sciousness. "  If  this  has  happened  at  twenty-two,"  thought 
Endymion,  "what  may  not  occur  if  the  average  life  of  man  be 
allotted  to  me }  At  any  rate  I  will  never  think  of  anything 
else.  I  have  a  purpose  in  life,  and  I  will  fulfil  it.  It  is  a  charm 
that  its  accomplishment  would  be  the  most  grateful  result  to 
the  two  beings  I  most  love  in  the  world." 

So  when  Lady  Montfort,  shortly  after,  opened  her  views  to 
Endymion  as  to  his  visiting  Paris,  and  his  purpose  in  so  doing, 
the  seeds  were  thrown  on  a  willing  soil,  and  he  embraced  her 
counsels  with  the  deepest  interest.  His  intimacy  with  the 
Count  of  FerroU  was  the  completing  event  of  this  epoch  of  his 
life. 

Their  acquaintance  had  been  slight  in  England,  for  after  the 
Montfort  Tournament  the  count  had  been  appointed  to  Paris, 
where  he  was  required ;  but  he  received  Endymion  with  a  cor- 
diality which  contrasted  with  his  usual  demeanor,  which,  though 
frank,  was  somewhat  cynical. 


ENDYMION,  295 

"  This  is  not  a  favorable  time  to  visit  Paris,"  he  said,  "  so  far 
as  society  is  concerned.  There  is  some  business  stirring  in  the 
diplomatic  world,  which  has  reassembled  the  fraternity  for  the 
moment,  and  the  king  is  at  St.  Cloud,  but  you  may  make  some 
acquaintances  which  may  be  desirable,  and,  at  any  rate,  look 
about  you  and  clear  the  ground  for  the  coming  season.  I  do 
not  despair  of  our  dear  friend  coming  over  in  the  winter.  It  is 
one  of  the  hopes  that  keep  me  alive.  What  a  woman !  You 
may  count  yourself  fortunate  in  having  such  a  friend.  I  do.  I 
am  not  particularly  fond  of  female  society.  Women  chatter 
too  much.  But  I  prefer  the  society  of  a  first-rate  woman  to 
that  of  any  man ;  and  Lady  Montfort  is  a  first-rate  woman — I 
think  the  greatest  since  Louise  of  Savoy;  infinitely  beyond  the 
Princesse  d'Ursins." 

The  "^  business  that  was  then  stirring  in  the  diplomatic 
world,"  at  a  season  when  the  pleasures  of  Parisian  society  could 
not  distract  him,  gave  Endymion  a  rare  opportunity  of  study- 
ing that  singular  class  of  human  beings  which  is  accustomed  to 
consider  states  and  nations  as  individuals,  and  speculate  on 
their  quarrels  and  misunderstandings,  and  the  remedies  which 
they  require,  in  a  tongue  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  in  lan- 
guage which  often  conveys  a  meaning  exactly  opposite  to  that 
which  it  seems  to  express.  Diplomacy  is  hospitable,  and  a 
young  Englishman  of  graceful  mien,  well  introduced,  and  a 
member  of  the  House  of  Commons — that  awful  assembly  which 
produces  those  dreaded  blue  bo®ks  which  strike  terror  in  the 
boldest  of  foreign  statesmen  —  was  not  only  received,  but 
courted,  in  the  interesting  circle  in  which  Endymion  found 
himself. 

There  he  encountered  men  gray  with  the  fame  and  wisdom 
of  half  a  century  of  deep  and  lofty  action,  men  who  had 
struggled  with  the  first  Napoleon,  and  had  sat  in  the  Congress 
of  Vienna;  others,  hardly  less  celebrated,  who  had  been  sud- 
denly borne  to  high  places  by  the  revolutionary  wave  of  1830, 
and  who  had  justly  retained  their  exalted  posts  when  so  many 
competitors,  with  an  equal  chance,  had  long  ago,  with  equal 
justice,  subsided  into  the  obscurity  from  which  they  ought 
never  to  have  emerged.  Around  these  chief  personages  were 
others  not  less  distinguished  by  their  abilities,  but  a  more  youth- 
ful generation,  who  knew  how  to  wait,  and  were  always  prepared 
or  preparing  for  the  inevitable  occasion  when  it  arrived — fine 
and  trained  writers,  who  could  interpret  in  sentences  of  graceful 
adroitness  the  views  of  their  chiefs ;  or  sages  in  precedents ; 


296  END  YM ION, 

walking  dictionaries  of  diplomacy,  and  masters  of  every  treaty ; 
and  private  secretaries  reading  human  nature  at  a  glance,  and 
collecting  every  shade  of  opinion  for  the  use  and  guidance  of 
their  principals. 

Whatever  their  controversies  in  the  morning,  their  critical 
interviews  and  their  secret  alliances,  all  were  smiles  and  grace- 
ful badinage  at  the  banquet  and  the  reception ;  as  if  they  had 
only  come  to  Paris  to  show  their  brilliant  uniforms,  their  golden 
fleeces,  and  their  grand  crosses,  and  their  broad  ribbons  with 
more  tints  than  the  iris. 

"  I  will  not  give  them  ten  years,"  said  the  Count  of  Ferroll, 
lighting  his  cigarette,  and  addressing  Endymion  on  their  return 
from  one  of  these  assemblies;  "I  sometimes  think  hardly  five." 

"  But  where  will  the  blow  come  from  ?  " 

"  Here ;  there  is  no  movement  in  Europe  except  in  France, 
and  here  it  will  always  be  a  movement  of  subversion." 

"  A  pretty  prospect !  " 

"  The  sooner  you  realize  it  the  better.  The  system  here  is 
supported  by  journalists  and  bankers;  two  influential  classes, 
but  the  millions  care  for  neither ;  rather,  I  should  say,  dislike 
both." 

"  Will  the  change  afl'ect  Europe  }  " 

"  Inevitably.  You  rightly  say  Europe,  for  that  is  a  geograph- 
ical expression.  There  is  no  state  in  Europe ;  I  exclude  your 
own  country,  which  belongs  to  every  division  of  the  globe,  and 
is  fast  becoming  more  commercial  than  political,  and  I  exclude 
Russia,  for  she  is  essentially  Oriental,  and  her  future  will  be 
entirely  the  East." 

"  But  there  is  Germany !  " 

"  Where  ?  I  cannot  find  it  on  the  maps.  Germany  is  divided 
into  various  districts,  and  when  there  is  a  war  they  are  ranged 
on  diff"erent  sides.  Notwithstanding  our  reviews  and  annual 
encampments,  Germany  is  practically  as  weak  as  Italy.  We 
have  some  kingdoms  who  are  allowed  to  play  at  being  first-rate 
powers ;  but  it  is  mere  play.  They  no  more  command  events 
than  the  King  of  Naples  or  the  Duke  of  Modena." 

"  Then  is  France  periodically  to  overrun  Europe  }  " 

"  So  long  as  it  continues  to  be  merely  Europe." 

A  close  intimacy  occurred  between  Endymion  and  the  Count 
of  Ferroll.  He  not  only  became  a  permanent  guest  at  the 
official  residence,  but  when  the  Conference  broke  up,  the  count 
invited  Endymion  to  be  his  companion  to  some  celebrated 
baths,  where  they  would  meet  not  only  many  of  his  late  dis- 


ENDYMION.  297 

tin^uished  colleagues,  but  their  imperial  and  royal  masters, 
seeking  alike  health  and  relaxation  at  this  famous  rendezvous. 

"  You  will  find  it  of  the  first  importance  in  public  life,"  said 
the  Count  of  Ferroll, "  to  know  personally  those  who  are  carrying 
on  the  business  of  the  world,  so  much  depends  on  the  character  of 
an  individual,  his  habits  of  thought,  his  prejudices,  his  super- 
stitions, his  social  weaknesses,  his  health.  Conducting  affairs 
without  this  advantage  is,  in  effect,  an  affair  of  stationery ;  it  is 
pens  and  paper  who  are  in  communication,  not  human  beings." 

The  brother-in-law  of  Lord  Roehampton  was  a  sort  of  per- 
sonage. It  was  very  true  that  distinguished  man  was  no  longer 
minister,  but  he  had  been  a  minister  for  a  long  time,  and  had 
left  a  great  name.  Foreigners  rarely  know  more  than  one  Eng- 
lish minister  at  a  time,  but  they  compensate  for  their  ignorance 
of  the  aggregate  body  by  even  exaggerating  the  qualities  of  the 
individual  with  whom  they  are  acquainted.  Lord  Roehampton 
had  conducted  the  affairs  of  his  country  always  in  a  courteous, 
but  still  in  a  somewhat  haughty  spirit.  He  was  easy  and  oblig- 
ing, and  conciliatory  in  little  matters,  but  where  the  credit,  or 
honor^  or  large  interests  of  England  were  concerned,  he  acted 
with  conscious  authority.  On  the  continent  of  Europe,  though 
he  sometimes  incurred  the  depreciation  of  the  smaller  minds, 
whose  self-love  he  may  not  have  sufficiently  spared,  by  the 
higher  spirits  he  was  feared  and  admired,  and  they  knew  when 
he  gave  his  whole  soul  to  an  affair,  that  they  were  dealing  with 
a  master. 

Endymion  was  presented  to  emperors  and  kings,  and  he  made 
his  way  with  these  exalted  personages.  He  found  them  differ- 
ent from  what  he  had  expected.  He  was  struck  by  their  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  affairs,  and  by  the  serenity  of  their 
judgment.  The  life  was  a  pleasant  as  well  as  an  interesting 
one.  Where  there  are  crowned  heads,  there  are  always  some 
charming  women.  Endymion  found  himself  in  a  delightful  circle. 
Long  days  and  early  hours,  and  a  beautiful  country,  renovate 
the  spirit  as  well  as  the  physical  frame.  Excursions  to  roman- 
tic forests,  and  visits  to  picturesque  ruins,  in  the  noon  of  sum- 
mer, are  enchanting,  especially  with  princesses  for  your  com- 
panions, bright  and  accomplished.  Yet,  notwithstanding  some 
distractions,  Endymion  never  omitted  writing  to  Lady  Montfort 
every  day. 

uhiveesitt; 


298  ENDYMION, 


CHAPTER   LXXIII. 

The  season  at  Paris  which  commenced  toward  the  end  of  the 
year  was  a  lively  one,  and  especially  interesting  to  Endymion, 
who  met  there  a  great  many  of  his  friends.  After  his  visit  to 
the  baths  he  had  traveled  alone  for  a  few  weeks,  and  saw  some 
famous  places  of  which  he  had  long  heard.  A  poet  was  then  sit- 
ting on  the  throne  of  Bavaria,  and  was  realizing  his  dreams  in  the 
creation  of  an  ideal  capital.  The  Black  Forest  is  a  land  of 
romance.  He  saw  Walhalla,  too,  crowning  the  Danube  with 
the  genius  of  Germany,  as  mighty  as  the  stream  itself.  Pleas- 
ant it  is  to  wander  among  the  quaint  cities  here  clustering 
together:  Nuremberg  with  all  its  ancient  art,  imperial  Augs- 
burg, and  Wurtzburg  with  its  priestly  palace,  beyond  the 
splendor  of  many  kings.     A  summer  in  Suabia  is  a  great  joy. 

But  what  a  contrast  to  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  bright  and  viva- 
cious, in  which  he  now  finds  himself,  and  the  companion  of 
the  Neuchatel  family.  Endymion  had  only  returned  to  Paris 
the  previous  evening,  and  the  Neuchatels  had  preceded  him 
by  a  week;  so  tliey  had  seen  everybody  and  could  tell  him 
everything.  Lord  and  Lady  Beaumaris  were  there,  and  Mrs. 
Rodney  their  companion,  her  husband  detained  in  London  by^ 
some  mysterious  business ;  it  was  thought  a  seat  in  Parliament,| 
which  Mr.  Tadpole  had  persuaded  him  might  be  secured  on  a| 
vacancy  occasioned  by  a  successful  petition.  They  had  seen 
the  Count  of  Ferroll,  who  was  going  to  dine  with  them  that  day, 
and  Endymion  was  invited  to  meet  him.  It  was  Adriana's  first 
visit  to  Paris,  and  she  seemed  delighted  with  it;  but  Mrs.  Neu- 
chatel preferred  the  gay  capital  when  it  was  out  of  season.  Mr. 
Neuchatel  himself  was  always  in  high  spirits  —  sanguine  and 
self-satisfied.  He  was  an  Orleanist,  had  always  been  so,  and 
sympathized  with  the  apparently  complete  triumph  of  his  prin- 
ciples— "real  liberal  principles,  no  nonsense;  there  was  more' 
gold  in  the  Bank  of  France  than  in  any  similar  establishment, 
in  Europe.  After  all,  wealth  is  the  test  of  the  welfare  of  a  peo- 
ple, and  the  test  of  wealth  is  the  command  of  the  precious 
metals.  Eh!  Mr.  Member  of  Parliament.?"  And  his  eye 
flashed  fire,  and  he  seemed  to  smack  his  lips  at  the  very  thought 
and  mention  of  these  delicious  circumstances.. 

They  were  in  a  jeweler's  shop,  and  Mrs.  Neuchatel  was  choos- 
ing a  trinket  for  a  wedding  present.  She  seemed  infinitely  dis- 
tressed.    "  What  do  you  think  of  this,  Adriana .''     It  is  simple 


END  YM ION.  299 

and  in  good  taste.  I  should  like  it  for  myself,  and  yet  I  fear  it 
might  not  be  thought  fine  enough." 

"  This  is  pretty,  mamma,  and  new,"  and  she  held  before  her 
mother  a  bracelet  of  much  splendor. 

"  Oh  no !  that  will  never  do,  dear  Adriana,  they  will  say  we 
are  purse-proud." 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will  always  say  that,  mamma,"  and  she 
sighed. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  all  separated,"  said  Endymion  to 
Adriana. 

"  Months !  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  said  you  were  the  first  runa- 
way. I  think  you  were  quite  right.  Your  new  life  now  will  be 
fresh  to  you.  If  you  had  remained,  it  would  only  have  been 
associated  with  defeat  and  discomfiture." 

"  I  am  so  happy  to  be  in  Parliament  that  I  do  not  think  I 
could  ever  associate  such  a  life  with  discomfiture." 

"  Does  it  make  you  very  happy .?"  said  Adriana,  looking  at 
him  rather  earnestly. 

"Very  happy." 

"I  am  glad  of  that." 

The  Neuchatels  had  a  house  at  Paris  —  one  of  the  fine  hotels 
of  the  First  Empire.  It  was  inhabited  generally  by  one  of  the 
nephews,  but  it  was  always  ready  to  receive  them  with  every 
luxury  and  every  comfort.  But  Mrs.  Neuchatel  herself  par- 
ticularly disliked  Paris,  and  she  rarely  accompanied  her  hus- 
band in  his  frequent  but  brief  visits  to  the  gay  city.  She  had 
yielded  on  this  occasion  to  the  wish  of  Adriana,  whom  she  had 
endeavored  to  bring  up  in  a  wholesome  prejudice  against 
French  taste  and  fashions. 

The  dinner  to-day  was  exquisite,  in  a  chamber  of  many- 
colored  marbles,  and  where  there  was  no  marble  there  was 
gold,  and  when  the  banquet  was  over  they  repaired  to  saloons 
hung  with  satin  of  a  delicate  tint  which  exhibited  to  perfection 
a  choice  collection  of  Greuse  and  Vanloo.  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton 
dined  there,  as  well  as  the  Count  of  Ferroll,  some  of  the  French 
ministers,  and  two  or  three  illustrious  Orleanist  celebrities  of 
literature,  who  acknowledged  and  emulated  the  matchless  con- 
versational powers  of  Mrs.  Neuchatel.  Lord  and  Lady  Beau- 
maris and  Mrs.  Rodney  completed  the  party. 

Sylvia  was  really  peerless.  She  was  by  birth  half  a  French- 
woman, and  she  compensated  for  her  deficiency  in  the  other 
moiety  by  a  series  of  exquisite  costumes  in  which  she  mingled 
with  the  spell-born  fashion  of  France  her  own  singular  genius 


300  ENDYMION. 

in  dress.  She  spoke  not  much,  but  looked  prettier  than  ever; 
a  little  haughty,  and  now  and  then  faintly  smiling.  What  was 
most  remarkable  about  her  was  her  convenient  and  complete 
want  of  memory.  Sylvia  had  no  past.  She  could  not  have 
found  her  way  to  Warwick  Street  to  save  her  life.  She  con- 
versed with  Endymion  with  ease  and  not  without  gratification, 
but  from  all  she  said  you  might  have  supposed  that  they  had 
been  born  in  the  same  sphere,  and  always  lived  in  the  same 
sphere,  that  sphere  being  one  peopled  by  duchesses  and  coun- 
tesses and  gentlemen  of  fashion  and  ministers  of  state. 

Lady  Beaumaris  was  different  from  her  sister  almost  in  all 
respects,  except  in  beauty,  though  her  beauty  even  was  of  a 
higher  style  than  that  of  Mrs.  Rodney.  Imogene  was  quite^ 
natural,  though  refined.  She  had  a  fine  disposition.  All  her' 
impulses  were  good  and  naturally  noble.  She  had  a  greater 
intellectual  range  than  Sylvia,  and  was  much  more  cultivated. 
This  she  owed  to  her  friendship  with  Mr.  Waldershare,  who 
was  entirely  devoted  to  her,  and  whose  main  object  in  life  was 
to  make  everything  contribute  to  her  greatness.  "  I  hope  he 
will  come  here  next  week,"  she  said  to  Endymion.  "I  heard 
from  him  to-day.  He  is  at  Venice.  And  he  gives  me  such' 
lovely  descriptions  of  that  city  that  I  shall  never  rest  till  I  have 
seen  it  and  glided  in  a  gondola." 

"Well,  that  you  can  easily  do." 

"  Not  so  easily.  It  will  never  do  to  interfere  with  my  lord's 
hunting;  and  when  hunting  is  over  there  is  always  something 
else  —  Newmarket,  or  the  House  of  Lords,  or  rook-shooting." 

"  I  must  say  there  is  something  delightful  about  Paris  which 
you  meet  nowhere  else,"  said  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  to  Endymion. 
*'  For  my  part,  it  has  the  same  effect  on  me  as  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne. When  I  think  of  what  we  were  doing  this  time  last 
year  —  those  dreadful  November  cabinets  —  I  shudder!  Bye- 
the-bye,  the  Count  of  FerroU  says  there  is  a  chance  of  Lady 
Montfort  coming  here  ;  have  you  heard  anything.?" 

Endymion  knew  all  about  it,  but  he  was  too  discreet  even  to 
pretend  to  exclusive  information  on  that  head.  He  thought  it 
might  be  true,  but  supposed  it  depended  on  my  lord. 

"Oh!  Montfort  will  never  come.  He  will  bolt  at  the  last 
moment  when  the  hall  is  full  of  packages.  Their  very  sight  will 
frighten  him,  and  he  will  steal  down  to  Princedown  and  read 
'Don  Quixote.' " 

Sidney  Wilton  was  quite  right.  Lady  Montfort  arrived  with-j 
out  her  lord.     "He  threw  me  over  almost  as  we  were  getting! 


END  YM ION.  301 

into  the  carriage,  and  I  had  quite  given  it  up  when  dear  Lady 
Roehampton  came  to  my  rescue.  She  wanted  to  see  her  brother, 
and — here  we  are." 

The  arrival  of  these  two  great  ladies  gave  a  stimulant  to  gay- 
eties  which  were  already  excessive.  The  court  and  the  ministers 
rivalled  the  balls  and  the  banquets  which  were  profusely  offered 
by  the  ambassadors  and  bankers.  Even  the  great  faubourg 
relaxed,  and  its  halls  of  high  ceremony  and  mysterious  splendor 
were  opened  to  those  who  in  London  had  extended  to  many  of 
their  order  a  graceful  and  abounding  hospitality.  It  was  with 
difficulty,  however,  that  they  persuaded  Lady  Montfort  to  honor 
with  her  presence  the  embassy  of  her  own  court. 

"  I  dined  with  those  people  once,"  she  said  to  Endymion, 
"  but  I  confess  when  I  thought  of  those  dear  Granvilles,  their 
entrees  stuck  in  my  throat." 

There  was,  however,  no  lack  of  diplomatic  banquets  for  the 
successor  of  Louis  of  Savoy.  The  splendid  hotel  of  the  Count 
of  FerroU  was  the  scene  of  festivals  not  to  be  exceeded  in  Paris, 
and  all  in  honor  of  this  wondrous  dame.  Sometimes  they  were 
feasts,  sometimes  they  were  balls,  sometimes  they  were  little 
dinners,  consummate  and  select,  sometimes  large  receptions, 
multifarious  and  amusing.  Her  pleasure  was  asked  every  morn, 
and  whenever  she  was  disengaged  she  issued  orders  to  this 
devoted  household.  His  boxes  at  opera  or  play  were  at  her 
constant  disposal ;  his  carriages  were  at  her  command,  and  she 
rode  in  his  society  the  most  beautiful  horses  in  Paris. 

The  Count  of  Ferroll  had  wished  that  both  ladies  should 
have  taken  up  their  residence  at  his  mansion. 

"  But  I  think  we  had  better  not,"  said  Lady  Montfort  to 
Myra.  "After  all,  there  is  nothing  like  *my  crust  of  bread  and 
liberty,'  and  so  I  think  we  had  better  stay  at  the  Bristol." 


CHAPTER   LXXIV. 

"Go  and  talk  to  Adriana,"  said  Lady  Roehampton  to  her 
brother.     "It  seems  to  me  you  never  speak  to  her." 

"  Endymion  looked  a  little  confused. 

"Lady  Montfort  has  plenty  of  friends  here,"  his  sister  con- 
tinued. "  You  are  not  wanted,  and  you  should  always  remember 
those  who  have  been  our  earliest  and  kindest  friends." 

There  was  something  in  Lady  Roehampton's  words  and  looks 
which  rather  jarred  upon  him.     Anything  like  reproach  or  dis- 


302  END  YMION. 

satisfaction  from  those  lips  and  from  that  countenance,  some- 
times a  little  anxious,  but  always  affectionate,  not  to  say  adoring, 
confused  and  even  agitated  him.  He  was  tempted  to  reply, 
but,  exercising  successfully  the  self-control  which  was  the  result 
rather  of  his  life  than  of  his  nature,  he  said  nothing ;  and,  in 
obedience  to  the  intimation,  immediately  approached  Miss 
Neuchatel. 

About  this  time'Waldershare  arrived  at  Paris,  full  of  magnifi- 
cent dreams  which  he  called  plans.  He  was  delighted  with 
his  office;  it  was  much  the  most  important  in  the  govern- 
ment, and  more  important  because  it  was  not  in  the  cabinet. 
Well  managed,  it  was  power  without  responsibility.  He  ex- 
plained to  Lady  Beaumaris  that  an  Under-secretary  of  State 
for  Foreign  Affairs,  with  his  chief  in  the  House  of  Lords,  was 
"  master  of  the  situation."  What  the  situation  was,  and  what  the 
under-secretary  was  to  master,  he  did  not  yet  deign  to  inform 
Imogene ;  but  her  trust  in  Waldershare  was  implicit,  and  she 
repeated  to  Lord  Beaumaris  and  to  Mrs.  Rodney,  with  an  air  of 
mysterious  self-complacency,  that  Mr.  Waldershare  was  "  master 
of  the  situation."  Mrs.  Rodney  fancied  that  this^was  the  cor- 
rect and  fashionable  title  of  an  under-secretary  of  state.  Mr. 
Waldershare  was  going  to  make  a  collection  of  portraits  of 
Under-Secretaries  for  Foreign  Affairs  whose  chiefs  had  been  in 
the  House  of  Lords.  It  would  be  a  collection  of  the  most 
eminent  statesmen  that  England  had  ever  produced.  For  the 
rest,  during  his  Italian  tour,  Waldershare  seemed  to  have  con- 
ducted himself  with  distinguished  discretion,  and  had  been 
careful  not  to  solicit  an  audience  of  the  Duke  of  Modena  in 
order  to  renew  his  oath  of  allegiance. 

When  Lady  Montfort  successfully  tempted  Lady  Roehamp- 
ton  to  be  her  travelHng  companion  to  Paris,  the  contemplated 
visit  was  to  have  been  a  short  one — "  a  week ;  perhaps  ten  days 
at  the  outside."  The  outside  had  been  not  inconsiderably 
passed,  and  yet  the  beautiful  Berengaria  showed  no  disposition 
of  returning  to  England.  Myra  was  uneasy  at  her  own  pro- 
tracted absence  from  her  lord ;  and,  having  made  a  last  but 
fruitless  effort  to  indnice  Lady  Montfort  to  accompany  her,  she 
said  one  day  to  Endymion,  "  I  think  I  must  ask  you  to  take  me 
back.  And  indeed  you  ought  to  be  with  my  lord  some  little 
time  before  the  meeting  of  Parliament." 

Endymion  was  really  of  the  same  opinion,  though  he  was 
conscious  of  the  social  difficulty  which  he  should  have  to 
encounter  in  order  to  effect  his  purpose.     Occasionally  a  states- 


END  YMION,  303 

man  in  opposition  is  assisted  by  the  same  private  secretary  who 
was  his  confidant  when  in  office ;  but  this  is  not  always  the 
case — perhaps  not  even  generally.  In  the  present  instance  the 
principal  of  Lord  Roehampton's  several  secretaries  had  been 
selected  from  the  permanent  clerks  in  the  Foreign  Office  itself, 
and  therefore  when  his  chief  retired  from  his  official  duties  the 
private  secretary  resumed  his  previous  post,  an  act  which  neces- 
sarily terminated  all  relations  between  himself  and  the  late 
minister,  save  those  of  private,  though  often  still  intimate, 
acquaintance. 

Now  one  of  the  great  objects  of  Lady  Roehampton  for  a 
long  time  had  been  that  her  brother  should  occupy  a  confiden- 
tial position  near  her  husband.  The  desire  had  originally  been 
shared,  and  even  warmly,  by  Lady  Montfort;  but  the  unex- 
pected entrance  of  Endymion  into  the  House  of  Commons  had 
raised  a  technical  difficulty  in  this  respect  which  seemed  to 
terminate  the  cherished  prospect.  Myra,  however,  was  resolved 
not  to  regard  these  technical  difficulties,  and  was  determined 
to  establish  at  once  the  intimate  relations  she  desired  between 
her  husband  and  her  brother.  This  purpose  had  been  one  of 
the  principal  causes  which  had  induced  her  to  accompany  Lady 
Montfort  to  Paris.  She  wanted  to  see  Endymion,  to  see  what 
he  was  about,  and  to  prepare  him  for  the  future  which  she 
contemplated. 

The  view  which  Lady  Montfort  took  of  these  matters  was 
very  different  from  that  of  Lady  Roehampton.  Lady  Mont- 
fort was  in  her  riding-habit,  leaning  back  in  an  easy-chair,  with 
her  whip  in  one  hand  and  the  Charivari  in  the  other,  and  she 
said,  "  Are  you  not  going  to  ride  to-day,  Endymion  .?  " 

"I  think  not.  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  a  little  about  my 
plans.  Lady  Montfort." 

"  Your  plans  !     Why  should  you  have  any  plans  ?  " 

"  Well,  Lady  Roehampton  is  about  to  return  to  England,  and 
she  proposes  I  should  go  with  her." 

"Why.?" 

And  then  Endymion  entered  into  the  whole  case,  the  desir- 
ableness of  being  with  Lord  Roehampton  before  the  meeting 
of  Parliament,  of  assisting  him,  working  with  him,  acting  for 
him,  and  all  the  other  expedient  circumstances  of  the  situation. 

Lady  Montfort  said  nothing.  Being  of  an  eager  nature,  it 
was  rather  her  habit  to  interrupt  those  who  addressed  her, 
especially  on  matters  she  deemed  disagreeable.  Her  husband 
used  to  say,  "  Berengaria  is  a  charming  companion,  but  if  she 


304  END  YMION, 

would  only  listen  a  little  more,  she  would  have  so  much  more 
to  tell  me."  On  the  present  occasion  Endymion  had  no  reason 
to  complain  that  he  had  not  a  fair  opportunity  of  stating  his 
views  and  wishes.  She  was  qiiite  silent,  changed  color  occa- 
sionally, bit  her  beautiful  lip,  and  gently  but  constantly  lashed 
her  beautiful  riding-habit.  When  he  paused  she  inquired  if  he 
had  done,  and  he  assenting,  she  said,  "  I  think  the  whole  thing 
preposterous.  What  can  Lord  Roehampton  have  to  do  before 
the  meeting  of  Parliament.?  He  has  not  got  to  write  the 
queen's  speech.  The  only  use  of  being  in  opposition  is  that 
we  may  enjoy  ourselves.  The  best  thing  that  Lord  Roehamp- 
ton and  all  his  friends  can  do  is  to  travel  for  a  couple  of  years. 
Ask  the  Count  of  FerroU  what  he  thinks  of  the  situation.  He 
will  tell  you  that  he  never  knew  one  more  hopeless.  Taxes 
and  tariffs — that's  the  future  of  England ;  and,  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  it  may  go  on  forever.  The  government  here  desires  noth- 
ing better  than  what  they  call  peace.  What  they  mean  by 
peace  is  agiotage,  shares  at  a  premium,  and  bubble  companies. 
The  whole  thing  is  corrupt,  as  it  ever  must  be  when  govern- 
ment is  in  the  hands  of  a  mere  middle  class,  and  that,  too,  a 
limited  one ;  but  it  may  last  hopelessly  long,  and  in  the  mean 
time,  '  Vive  la  bagatelle  ! ' " 

"  These  are  very  different  views  from  those  which  I  had 
understood  were  to  guide  us  in  opposition,"  ^said  Endymion, 
amazed. 

"  There  is  no  opposition,"  rejoined  Lady  Montfort,  somewhat 
tartly.  "  For  a  real  opposition  there  must  be  a  great  policy. 
If  your  friend.  Lord  Roehampton,  when  he  was  settling  the 
Levant,  had  only  seized  upon  Egypt,  we  should  have  been  some- 
where. Now  we  are  the  party  who  wanted  to  give  not  even 
cheap  bread  to  the  people,  but  only  cheaper  bread.     Faugh  !  " 

"  Well,  I  do  not  think  the  occupation  of  Egypt  in  the  pres- 
ent state  of  our  finances  —  " 

"  Do  not  talk  to  me  about  *  the  present  state  of  our  finances.* 
You  are  worse  than  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton.  The  Count  of  Ferroll 
says  that  a  ministry  which  is  upset  by  its  finances  must  be  essen- 
tially imbecile.  And  that,  too,  in  England — the  richest  country 
in  the  world  !  " 

"  Well,  I  think  the  state  of  the  finances  had  something  to  do 
with  the  French  Revolution,"  observed  Endymion,  quietly. 

"  The  French  Revolution  !  You  might  as  well  talk  of  the  fall 
of  the  Roman  Empire.  The  French  Revolution  was  founded 
on  nonsense  —  on  the  rights  of  man,  when  all  sensible  people 


END  YM ION.  305 

in  every  country  are  now  agreed  that  man  has  no  rights  what- 
ever." 

"  But,  dearest  Lady  Montfort,  said  Endymion,  in  a  somewhat 
deprecating  tone,  "  about  my  returning,  for  that  is  the  real  sub- 
ject on  which  I  wished  to  trouble  you." 

"  You  have  made  up  your  mind  to  return,"  she  replied. 
"  What  is  the  use  of  consulting  me  with  a  foregone  conclusion  } 
I  suppose  you  think  it  a  compliment." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  do  anything  without  consulting 
you,"  said  Endymion. 

"  The  worst  person  in  the  world  to  consult,"  said  Lady  Mont- 
fort, impatiently.  "  If  you  want  advice  you  had  better  go  to 
your  sister.  Men  who  are  guided  by  their  sisters  seldom  make 
very  great  mistakes.  They  are  generally  so  prudent ;  and  I 
must  say,  I  think  a  prudent  man  quite  detestable." 

Endymion  turned  pale,  his  lip  quivered,  what  might  have 
been  the  winged  words  they  sent  forth  it  is  now  impossible  to 
record,  for  at  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the  servant 
announced  that  her  ladyship's  horse  was  at  the  door.  Lady 
Montfort  jumped  up  quickly,  and  saying,  "  Well,  I  suppose  I 
shall  see  you  before  you  go,"  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

'In  the  mean  time,  Lady  Roehampton  was  paying  her  farewell 
visit  to  her  former  pupil.  They  were  alone,  and  Adriana  was 
hanging  on  her  neck  and  weeping. 

"  We  were  so  happy,"  she  murmured. 

"  And  are  so  happy,  and  will  be,"  said  Myra. 

"  I  feel  I  shall  never  be  happy  again,"  sighed  Adriana. 

"  You  deserve  to  be  the  happiest  of  human  beings,  and  you 
will  be." 

"  Never,  never  !  " 

Lady  Roehampton  could  say  no  more ;  she  pressed  her  friend 
to  her  heart,  and  left  the  room  in  silence. 

When  she  arrived  at  her  hotel,  her  brother  was  leaving  the 
house.  His  countenance  was  disquieted ;  he  did  not  greet  her 
with  that  mantling  sunniness  of  aspect  which  was  natural  to  him 
when  they  met. 

"  I  have  made  all  my  farewells,"  she  said ;  "  and  how  have 
you  been  getting  on } "  And  she  invited  him  to  re-enter  the 
hotel. 


3o6  END  YMION. 

"  I  am  ready  to  depart  at  this  moment,"  he  said,  somewhat 
fiercely,  "and  was  only  thinking  how  I  could  extricate  myself 
from  that  horrible  dinner  to-day  at  the  Count  of  Ferroll's." 

"Well,  that  is  not  difficult,"  said  Myra;  "you  can  write  a 
note  here  if  you  like,  at  once.  I  think  you  must  have  seen 
quite  enough  of  the  Count  of  FerroU  and  his  friends." 

Endymion  sat  down  at  the  table  and  announced  his  intended 
non-appearance  at  the  count's  dinner,  for  it  could  not  be  called 
an  excuse.     When  he  had  finished,  his  sister  said : 

"  Do  you  know,  we  were  nearly  having  a  traveling  companion 
to-morrow  ?  " 

He  looked  up  with  a  blush,  for  he  fancied  she  was  alluding 
to  some  previous  scheme  of  Lady  Montfort.  "  Indeed !  "  he 
said,  "  and  who  }  " 

"Adriana." 

"Adriana!"  he  repeated,  somewhat  relieved;  "would  she 
leave  her  family  .?  " 

"  She  had  a  fancy,  and  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  any  com- 
panion I  could  prefer  to  her.  She  is  the  only  person  of  whom 
I  could  truly  say  that  every  time  I  see  her,  I  love  her  more," 

"  She  seemed  to  like  Paris  very  much,"  said  Endymion,  a 
little  embarrassed. 

"The  first  part  of  her  visit,"  said  Lady  Roehampton,  "she 
liked  it  amazingly.  But  on  my  arrival  and  Lady  Montfort's,  I 
fear,  broke  up  their  little  parties.  You  were  a  great  deal  with 
the  Neuchaiels  before  we  came.?  " 

"They  are  such  a  good  family,"  said  Endymion,  " so  kind, 
so  hospitable,  such  true  friends.  And  Mr.  Neuchatel  himself  is 
one  of  the  shrewdest  men  that  probably  ever  lived.  I  like 
talking  with  him,  or  rather,  I  like  to  hear  him  talk." 

"  Oh,  Endymion  !  "  said  Lady  Roehampton,  "  if  you  were  to 
marry  Adriana,  my  happiness  would  be  complete." 

"  Adriana  will  never  marry,"  said  Endymion ;  "  she  is  afraid 
of  being  married  for  her  money.  I  know  twenty  men  who 
would  marry  her  if  they  thought  there  was  a  chance  of  being 
accepted;  and  the  best  man,  Eusford,  did  make  her  an  offer  — 
that  I  know.  And  where  could  she  find  a  match  more  suitable.? 
—  high  rank,  and  large  estate,  and  a  man  that  everybody  speaks 
well  of." 

"  Adriana  w^ill  never  marry  except  for  the  affections ;  there 
you  are  right,  Endymion;  she  must  love  and  she  must  be  loved; 
but  that  is  not  very  unreasonable  in  a  person  who  is  young, 
pretty,  accomplished,  and  intelligent." 


END  YAflON.  307 

"  She  is  all  that,"  said  Endymion,  moodily. 

"  And  she  loves  you,"  said  Lady  Roehampton. 

Endymion  rather  started,  looked  up  for  a  moment  at  his  sis- 
ter, and  then  withdrew  as  hastily  an  agitated  glance,  and  then 
with  his  eyes  on  the  ground  said,  in  a  voice  half  murmuring,  and 
yet  scofftngly :  "  I  should  like  to  see  Mr.  Neuchatel's  face  were 
I  to  ask  permission  to  marry  his  daughter.  I  suppose  h .  would 
not  kick  me  down-stairs;  that  is  out  of  fashion;  but  he  cer- 
tainly would  never  ask  me  to  dinner  again,  and  that  would  be  a 
sacrifice." 

"You  jest,  Endymion;  I  am  not  jesting." 

"There  are  some  matters  that  can  only  be  treated  as  a  jest; 
and  my  marriage  with  Miss  Neuchatel  is  one." 

"  It  would  make  you  one  of  the  most  powerful  men  in  Eng- 
land," said  his  sister. 

"Other  impossible  events  would  do  the  same." 

"  It  is  not  impossible ;  it  is  very  poss-ible,"  said  his  sister, 
"believe  me,  trust  in  me.  The  happiness  of  their  daughter  is 
more  precious  to  the  Neuchatels  even  than  their  fortune." 

"  I  do  not  see  why,  at  my  age,  I  should  be  in  such  a  hurry  to 
marry,"  said  Endymion. 

"  You  cannot  marry  too  soon,  if  by  so  doing  you  obtain  the 
great  object  in  life.  Early  marriages  are  to  be  deprecated, 
especially  for  men,  because  they  are  too  frequently  imprudent ; 
but  when  a  man  can  marry  while  he  is  young,  and  at  once 
realize,  by  so  doing,  all  the  results  which  successful  time  may 
bring  to  him,  he  should  not  hesitate." 

"  I  hesitate  very  much,"  said  Endymion.  "  I  should  hesitate 
very  much,  even  if  affairs  were  as  promising  as  I  think  you  may 
erroneously  assume." 

"  But  you  must  not  hesitate,  Endymion.  We  must  never  for- 
get the  great  object  for  which  we  two  live,  for  which,  I  believe, 
we  were  born  twins  —  to  rebuild  our  house;  to  raise  it  from 
poverty,  and  ignominy,  and  misery,  and  squalid  shame,  to  the 
rank  and  position  which  we  demand,  and  which  we  believe  we 
deserve.  Did  I  hesitate  when  an  offer  of  marriage  was 
made  to  me,  and  the  most  unexpected  that  could  have  occurred  "> 
True  it  is,  I  married  the  best  and  greatest  of  men,  but  I  did  not 
know  that  when  I  accepted  his  hand.  I  married  him  for  your 
sake,  I  married  him  for  my  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  the  house 
of  Ferrars,  which  I  wished  to  release  and  raise  from  its  pit  of 
desolation.     I  married  him  to  secure  for  us  both  that  oppor- 


3o8  ENDYMION. 

tunity  for  our  qualities  which  they  had  lost,  and  which  I  be- 
lieved, if  enjoyed,  would  render  us  powerful  and  great." 

Endymion  rose  from  his  seat  and  kissed  his  sister.  "  So  long 
as  you  live,"  he  said,  "we  shall  never  be  ignominious," 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  nothing ;  I  am  not  a  man,  I  am  not  a  Ferrars. 
The  best  of  me  is  that  I  may  be  a  transient  help  to  you.  It  is 
you  who  must  do  the  deed.  I  am  wearied  of  hearing  you 
described  as  Lady  Roehampton's  brother,  or  Lord  Roehamp- 
ton's  brother-in-law.  I  shall  never  be  content  till  you  axe 
greater  than  we  are,  and  there  is  but  only  one,  and  one  imme- 
diate way  of  accomplishing  it ;  it  is  by  this  marriage  —  and  a 
marriage  with  whom .''  with  an  angelic  being !  " 

"  You  take  me  somewhat  by  surprise,  Myra.  My  thoughts 
have  not  been  upon  this  matter.  I  cannot  fairly  describe  my- 
self at  this  moment  as  a  marrying  man." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  You  have  female  friendships,  and 
I  approve  of  them.  They  are  invaluable  to  youth,  and  you 
have  been  greatly  favored  in  this  respect.  They  have  been  a 
great  assistance  to  you  ;  beware  lest  they  become  a  hinderance. 
A  few  years  of  such  feelings  in  a  woman's  life  are  a  blazoned 
page;  and  when  it  is  turned  she  has  many  other  chapters, 
though  they  may  not  be  as  brilliant  or  adorned.  But  these  few 
years  in  a  man's  life  may  be,  and  in  your  case  certainly  would 
be,  the  very  marrow  of  his  destiny.  During  the  last  five  or  six 
years,  ever  since  our  emancipation,  there  has  been  a  gradual  but 
continuous  development  in  your  life.  All  has  been  preparatory 
for  a  position  which  you  have  acquired.  That  position  may 
lead  to  anything  —  in  your  case,  I  will  still  believe,  to  every- 
thing—  but  there  must  be  no  faltering.  Having  crossed  the 
Alps,  you  must  not  find  a  Capua.  I  speak  to  you  as  I  have  not 
spoken  to  you  of  late,  because  it  was  not  necessary.  But  here 
is  an  opportunity  which  must  not  be  lost.  I  feel  half  inspired, 
as  when  we  parted  in  our  misery  at  Hurstley,  and  I  bade  you, 
poor  and  obscure,  go  forth  and  conquer  the  world." 

Late  on  the  night  of  the  day,  their  last  day  in  Paris,  on  which 
this  conversation  took  place,  Endymion  received  a  note  in  a 
well-known  handwriting,  and  it  ran  thus : 

"  If  it  be  any  satisfactiort  to  you  to  know  that  you  made  me 
very  unhappy  by  not  dining  here  to-day,  you  may  be  gratified. 
I  am  very  unhappy.  I  know  that  I  was  unkind  this  morning, 
and  rude ;  but  as  my  anger  was  occasioned  by  your  leaving  me, 
my  conduct  might  annoy,  but  surely  could  not  mortify,  you.     I 


END  YM ION,  3C9 

shall  see  you  to-morrow,  however  early  you  may  depart,  as  I 
cannot  let  your  dear  sister  leave  Paris  without  my  embracing 
her.  Your  faithful  friend, 

"  Berengaria." 

CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

In  old  days,  it  was  the  habit  to  think  and  say  that  the  House 
of  Commons  was  an  essentially  "  queer  place,"  which  no  one 
could  understand  until  he  was  a  member  of  it.  It  may,  per- 
haps, be  doubted  whether  that  somewhat  mysterious  quality 
still  altogether  attaches  to  that  assembly.  "  Our  own  Reporter  " 
has  invaded  it  in  all  its  purlieus.  No  longer  content  with  giv- 
ing an  account  of  the  speeches  of  its  members,  he  is  not 
satisfied  unless  he  describes  their  persons,  their  dress,  and  their 
characteristic  mannerisms.  He  tells  us  how  they  dine,  even 
the  wines  and  dishes  which  they  favor,  and  follows  them  into 
the  very  mysteries  of  their  smoking-room.  And  yet  there  is, 
perhaps,  a  certain  fine  sense  of  the  feelings  and  opinions  and 
humors  of  this  assembly  which  cannot  be  acquired  by  hasty 
notions,  and  necessarily  superficial  remarks,  but  must  be  the 
result  of  long  and  patient  observation,  and  of  that  quick  sym- 
pathy with  human  sentiment,  in  all  its  classes,  which  is  involved 
in  the  possession  of  that  inestimable  quality  styled  tact. 

When  Endymion  Ferrars  first  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  it  still  fully  possessed  its  character  of  enigmatic  tra- 
dition. It  had  been  thought  that  this,  in  a  great  degree,  would 
have  been  dissipated  by  the  Reform  Act  of  1832,  which  sud- 
denly introduced  into  the  hallowed  precinct  a  number  of 
individuals  whose  education,  manners,  modes  of  thought,  were 
different  from  those  of  the  previous  inhabitants,  and  in  some 
instances,  and  in  some  respects,  quite  contrary  to  them.  But 
this  was  not  so.  After  a  short  time  it  was  observed  that  the 
old  material,  though  at  first  much  less  in  quantity,  had  leavened 
the  new  mass ;  that  the  tone  of  the  former  House  was  imitated 
and  adopted,  and  that  at  the  end  of  five  years,  about  the  time 
Endymion  was  returned  to  Parliament,  much  of  its  serene  and 
refined  and  even  classical  character  had  been  recovered. 

For  himself,  he  entered  the  chamber  with  a  certain  degree  of 
awe,  which,  with  use,  diminished,  but  never  entirely  disap- 
peared. The  scene  was  one  over  which  his  boyhood  even  had 
long  mused,  and  it  was  associated  with  all  those  traditions  of 
genius,  eloquence,  and  power  that  charm  and  inspire  youth. 


3IO  ENDYMION. 

His  practical  acquaintance  with  the  forms  and  habits  of  the 
House,  from  his  customary  attendance  on  their  debates  as  pri- 
vate secretary  to  a  cabinet  minister,  was  of  great  advantage  to 
him,  and  restrained  that  excitement  which  dangerously  accom- 
panies us  when  we  enter  into  a  new  life,  and  especially  a  life  of 
such  deep  and  thrilling  interests  and  such  large  proportions. 
This  result  was  also  assisted  by  his  knowledge,  at  least  by  sight, 
of  a  large  proportion  of  old  members,  and  by  his  personal  and 
sometimes  intimate  acquaintance  with  those  of  his  own  party 
There  was  much  in  his  position,  therefore,  to  soften  that 
awkward  feeling  of  being  a  freshman,  which  is  always  embar- 
rassing. 

He  took  his  place  on  the  second  bench  of  the  Opposition 
side  of  the  House,  and  nearly  behind  Lord  Roehampton.  Mr. 
Bertie  Tremaine,  whom  Endymion  encountered  in  the  lobby  as 
he  was  escaping  to  dinner,  highly  disapproved  of  this  step.  He 
had  greeted  Endymion  with  affable  condescension.  "  You 
made  your  first  mistaka  to-night,  my  dear  Ferrars.  You  should 
have  taken  your  seat  below  the  gangway  and  near  me  on  the 
Mountain.     You,  like  myself,  are  a  man  of  the  future." 

"I  am  a  member  of  the  Opposition.  I  do  not  suppose  it 
signifies  much  where  I  sit." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  signifies  everything.  After  this  great 
Tory  reaction  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  now  by  speeches, 
and,  in  all  probability,  very  little  that  can  be  effectually  opposed. 
Much,  therefore,  depends  upon  where  you  sit.  If  you  sit  on 
the  Mountain,  the  public  imagination  will  be  attracted  to  you  ; 
'and  when  they  are  aggrieved,  which  they  will  be  in  good  time, 
the  public  passion,  which  is  called  opinion,  will  look  to  you  for 
representation.  My  advice  to  my  friends  now  is  to  sit  together 
and  say  nothing,  but  to  profess  through  the  press  the  most 
advanced  opinions.  We  sit  on  the  back  bench  of  the  gangway, 
and  we  call  ourselves  the  Mountain." 

Notwithstanding  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine's  oracular  revelations, 
Endymion  was  very  glad  to  find  his  old  friend  Trenchard  gen- 
erally his  neighbor.  He  had  a  high  opinion  of  Trenchard's 
judgment  and  acquirements,  and  he  liked  the  man.  In  time, 
they  always  managed  to  sit  together.  Job  Thornberry  took  his 
seat  below  the  gangway,  on  the  Opposition  side,  and  on  the  floor 
of  the  House.  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  had  sent  his  brother,  Mr. 
Tremaine  Bertie,  to  look  after  this  new  star,  whom  he  was  anxious 
should  ascend  the  Mountain ;  but  Job  Thornberry,  wishing  to 
know  whether  the  Mountain  was  going  for  "  total  and  imme- 


END  YAH  ON.  3" 

diate,"  and  not  obtaining  a  sufficiently  distinct  reply,  declined 
the  proffered  intimation.  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  being  a  landed 
proprietor  as  well  as  leader  of  the  Mountain,  was  too  much 
devoted  to  the  rights  of  labor  to  sanction  such  middle-class 
madness. 

"Peel  will  have  to  do  it,"  said  Job.     "You  will  see." 

"  Peel  now  occupies  the  position  of  Neckar,"  said  Mr.  Bertie 
Tremaine,  "  and  will  make  the  same  fiasco.  Then  you  will  at 
last  have  a  popular  government." 

"And  the  rights  of  labor.?"  asked  Job.  "All  I  hope  is,  I 
may  have  got  safe  to  the  States  before  that  day." 

"  There  will  be  no  danger,"  said  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine.  "  There 
is  this  difference  between  the  English  Mountain  and  the  French  : 
the  English  Mountain  has  its  government  prepared.  And  my 
brother  spoke  to  you  because,  when  the  hour  arrives,  I  wished 
to  see  you  a  member  of  it." 

"  My  dear  Endymion,"  said  Waldershare,  "let  us  dine  together 
before  we  meet  in  mortal  conflict,  which  I  suppose  will  be  soon. 
I  really  think  your  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  the  most  absurd  being 
out  of  Colney  Hatch." 

"  Well,  he  has  a  purpose,"  said  Endymion ;  "  and  they  say 
that  a  man  with  a  purpose  generally  sees  it  realized." 

"What  I  do  like  in  him,"  said  Waldershare,  "is  this  revival 
of  the  Pythagorean  system,  and  leading  a  party  of  silence. 
That  is  rich." 

One  of  the  most  interesting  members  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons was  Sir  Fraunceys  Scrope.  He  was  the  father  of  the 
House,  though  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  from  his  appear- 
ance. He  was  tall,  and  had  kept  his  distinguished  figure;  a 
handsome  man,  with  a  musical  voice,  and  a  countenance  now 
benignant,  though  very  bright,  and  once  haughty.  He  still 
retained  the  same  fashion  of  costume  in  which  he  had  ridden 
up  to  Westminster  more  than  half  a  century  ago,  from  his  seat 
in  Derbyshire,  to  support  his  dear  friend  Charles  Fox;  real 
top-boots,  and  blue  coat  and  buff  waistcoat.  He  was  a  great 
friend  of  Lord  Roehampton,  had  a  large  estate  in  the  same 
county,  and  had  refused  an  earldom.  Knowing  Endymion,  he 
came  and  sat  by  him  one  day  in  the  House,  and  asked  him, 
good-naturedly,  how  he  liked  his  new  life. 

"  It  is  very  different  from  what  it  was  when  I  was  your  age. 
Up  to  Easter  we  rarely  had  a  regular  debate,  never  a  party 
division ;  very  few  people  came  up  indeed.  But  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  speaking  on  all  subjects  before  dinner.     We  had 


312  ENDYMION, 

the  privilege  then  of  speaking  on  the  presentation  of  petitions 
at  any  length,  and  we  seldom  spoke  on  any  other  occasion. 
After  Easter  there  was  always  at  least  one  great  party  fight. 
This  was  a  mighty  affair,  talked  of  for  weeks  before  it  came  off, 
and  then  rarely  an  adjourned  debate.  We  were  gentlemen, 
used  to  sit  up  late,  and  should  have  been  sitting  up  somewhere 
else  had  we  not  been  in  the  House  of  Commons.  After  this 
party  fight,  the  House  for  the  rest  of  the  session  was  a  mere 
club." 

"  There  was  not  much  business  doing  then,"  said  Endymion. 

"There  was  not  much  business  in  the  country  then.  The 
House  of  Commons  was  very  much  like  what  the  House  of 
Lords  is  now.  You  went  home  to  dine,  and  now  and  then 
came  back  for  an  important  division.'* 

"But  you  must  always  have  had  the  estimates  here,"  said 
Emdymion. 

"  Yes,  but  they  ran  through  very  easily.  Hume  was  the  first 
man  who  attacked  the  estimates.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
yourself  to-day }  Will  you  take  your  mutton  with  me  }  You  must 
come  in  boots,  for  it  is  now  dinner-time,  and  you  must  return,  I 
fancy.  Twenty  years  ago,  no  man  would  think  of  coming  down 
to  the  House  except  in  evening  dress.^  I  remember  so  late  as 
Mr.  Canning,  the  minister  always  came  down  in  silk  stockings  and 
pantaloons,  or  knee-breeches.  All  things  change,  and  quoting 
Virgil,  as  that  young  gentleman  has  just  done,  will  be  the  next 
thing  to  disappear.  In  the  last  Parliament  we  often  had  Latin 
quotations,  but  never  from  a  member  with  a  new  constituency. 
I  have  heard  Greek  quoted  here,  but  that  was  long  ago,  and  a 
great  mistake.  The  House  was  quite  alarmed.  Charles  Fox 
used  to  say  as  to  quotation  —  *  No  Greek  ,^  as  much  Latin  as 
you  like;  and  never  French  under  any  circumstances.  No 
English  poet  unless  he  had  completed  his  century.'  These 
were  like  some  other  rules,  the  unwritten  orders  of  the  House  of 
Commons." 

CHAPTER    LXXVII. 

While  parliaments  were  dissolving  and  ministries  forming, 
the  disappointed  seeking  consolation  and  the  successful  enjoy- 
ing their  triumph,  Simon,  Earl  of  Montfort,  who  just  missed 
being  a  great  philosopher,  was  reading  "Topsy  Turvy,"  which 
infinitely  amused  him ;  the  style  so  picturesque  and  lambent ! 
the   tone  so  divertingly  cynical  I      And   if   the  knowledge  of 


END  YM ION,  313 

society  in  its  pages  was  not  so  distinguished  as  that  of  human 
nature  generally,  this  was  a  deficiency  obvious  only  to  a  com- 
paratively limited  circle  of  its  readers. 

Lord  Montfort  had  reminded  Endymion  of  his  promise  to 
introduce  the  distinguished  author  to  him,  and  accordingly, 
after  due  researches  as  to  his  dwelling-place,  Mr.  Ferrars  called 
in  Jermyn  Street  and  sent  up  his  card,  to  know  whether  Mr.  St. 
Barbe  would  receive  him.  This  was  evidently  not  a  matter-of- 
course  affair,  and  some  little  time  had  elapsed  when  the  maid- 
servant reappeared  and  beckoned  to  Endymion  to  follow  her 
up-stairs. 

In  the  front  drawing-room  of  the  first  floor,  robed  in  a  flam- 
ing dressing-gown,  and  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire  and 
to  the  looking-glass,  the  frame  of  which  was  incrusted  with 
cards  of  invitation,  the  former  colleague  of  Endymion  received 
his  visitor  with  a  somewhat  haughty  and  reserved  air. 

"Well,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  again,"  said  Endymion. 

No  reply  but  a  ceremonious  bow. 

"And  to  congratulate  you,"  Endymion  added,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause ;  "  I  hear  of  nothing  but  of  your  book ;  I  sup- 
pose one  of  the  most  successful  that  have  appeared  for  a  long 
time." 

'*  Its  success  is  not  owing  to  your  friends,"  said  Mr.  St. 
Barbe,  tartly. 

"  My  friends!"  said  Endymion;  "  what  could  they  have  done 
to  prevent  it.?" 

"  They  need  not  have  dissolved  Parliament,"  said  Mr.  St. 
Barbe,  with  irritation.  "  It  was  nearly  fatal  to  me ;  it  would 
have  been  to  anybody  else.  I  was  selling  forty  thousand  a 
month;  I  believe  more  than  Gushy  ever  reached;  and  so  they 
dissolved  Parliament.  The  sale  went  down  half  at  once  —  and 
now  you  expect  me  to  support  your  party!" 

"  Well,  it  was  unfortunate ;  but  the  dissolution  could  hardly 
have  done  you  any  permanent  injury,  and  you  could  scarcely 
expect  that  such  an  event  could  be  postponed  even  for  the 
advantage  of  an  individual  so  distinguished  as  yourself." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  St.  Barbe,  apparently  a  little  mollified, 
"  but  they  might  have  done  something  to  show  their  regret 
at  it." 

"Something!"  said  Endymion,  "what  sort  of  thing?" 

"The  prime-minister  might  have  called  on  me,  or  at  least 
have  written  to  me  a  letter.  I  want  none  of  their  honors ;  I 
have  scores  of  letters  every  day  suggesting  that  sonic  high  dis- 


314  ENDYMION, 

tinction  should  be  conferred  on  me.  I  believe  the  nation  ex- 
pects me  to  be  made  a  baronet.  Bye-the-bye,  I  heard  the  other 
day  you  had  got  into  Parliament;  I  know  nothing  of  these 
matters;  they  do  not  interest  me;  is  it  the  fact.?" 

"  Well,  I  was  so  fortunate,  and  there  are  others  of  your  old 
friends  —  Trenchard,  for  example." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Trenchard  is  in  Parliament !  " 
said  St.  Barbe,  throwing  off  all  his  affected  reserve.  *'  Well,  it 
is  too  disgusting !  Trenchard  in  Parliament,  and  I  obliged  to 
think  it  a  great  favor  if  a  man  gives  me  a  frank !  Well,  repre- 
sentative institutions  have  seen  their  day.     That  is  something." 

"  I  have  come  here  on  a  social  mission,"  said  Endymion,  in  a 
soothing  tone.  "  There  is  a  great  admirer  of  yours  who  much 
wishes  to  make  your  acquamtance.  Trusting  to  our  old  inti- 
macy, of  which,  of  course,  I  am  very  proud,  it  was  even  hoped 
that  you  might  waive  ceremony,  and  come  and  dine." 

"  Quite  impossible,"  exclaimed  St.  Barbe,  and  turning  round, 
he  pointed  to  the  legion  of  invitations  before  him.  "You  see, 
the  world  is  at  my  feet.  I  remember  that  fellow  Seymour  Hicks 
taking  me  to  his  rooms  to  show  me  a  card  he  had  from  a  count- 
ess.    What  would  he  say  to  this.'*  " 

"  Well,  but  you  cannot  be  engaged  to  dinner  every  day,"  said 
Endymion;  "and  you  really  may  choose  any  day  you  like," 

"  Well,  there  are  not  many  dinners  among  them,  to  be  sure," 
said  St.  Barbe.  "  Small  and  earlies.  How  I  hate  a  *  small  and 
early  ! '  Shown  into  a  room  where  you  meet  a  select  few  who 
have  been  asked  to  dinner,  and  who  are  chewing  the  cud  like 
a  herd  of  kine,  and  you  are  expected  to  tumble  before  them  to 
assist  their  digestion  !  Faugh  !  No,  sir;  we  only  dine  out  now, 
and  we  think  twice,  I  can  tell  you,  before  we  accept  even  an 
invitation  to  dinner.     Who's  your  friend  }  " 

"Well,  my  friend  is  Lord  Montfort." 

"You  do  not  mean  to  say  that!  And  he  is  an  admirer  of 
mine }  " 

"An  enthusiastic  admirer." 

"  I  will  dine  with  Lord  Montfort.  There  is  no  one  who  ap- 
preciates so  completely  and  so  highly  the  old  nobility  of  Eng- 
land as  myself.  They  are  a  real  aristocracy.  None  of  the 
pinch-beck  pedigrees  and  ormolu  titles  of  the  Continent.  Lord 
Montfort  is,  I  think,  an  earl.  A  splendid  title,  earl !  an  Eng- 
lish earl;  count  goes  for  nothing.  The  Earl  of  Montfort!  An 
enthusiastic  admirer  of  mine.  The  aristocracy  of  England, 
especially  the  old  aristocracy,  are  highly  cultivated.     Sympathy 


END  YM ION,  315 

from  such  a  class  is  to  be  valued.  I  care  for  no  other  —  I  have 
always  despised  the  million  of  vulgar.  They  have  come  to  me, 
not  I  to  them,  and  I  have  always  told  them  the  truth  about 
themselves,  that  they  are  a  race  of  snobs,  and  they  rather  like 
being  told  so.     And  now  for  your  day  .?  " 

"  Why  not  this  day,  if  you  be  free  .'*  I  will  call  for  you  about 
eight,  and  take  you  in  my  brougham  to  Montfort  House." 

"  You  have  got  a  brougham !  Well,  I  suppose  so,  being  a 
member  of  Parliament ;  though  I  know  a  good  many  members 
of  Parliament  who  have  not  got  broughams.  But  your  family, 
I  remember,  married  into  the  swells.  I  do  not  grudge  it  you. 
You  were  always  a  good  comrade  to  me.  I  never  knew  a  man 
more  free  from  envy  than  you,  Ferrars,  and  envy  is  an  odious 
vice.  There  are  people  I  know  who,  when  they  hear  I  have 
dined  with  the  Earl  of  Montfort,  will  invent  all  sorts  of  stories 
against  me,  and  send  them  to  what  they  call  the  journals  of 
society." 

"  Well,  then,  it  shall  be  to-day,"  said  Endymion,  rising. 

"  It  shall  be  to-day,  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  thinking 
this  morning  where  I  should  dine  to-day.  What  I  miss  here 
are  the  cafes.  Now  in  Paris  you  can  dine  every  day  exactly  as 
it  suits  your  means  and  mood.  You  may  dine  for  a  couple  of 
francs  in  a  quiet,  unknown  street,  and  very  well,  or  you  may 
dine  for  a  couple  of  napoleons  in  a  flaming  saloon,  with  win- 
daws  opening  on  a  crowded  boulevard.  London  is  deficient  in 
dining  capability." 

"  You  should  belong  to  a  club.     Do  you  not  ?  " 

"  So  I  was  told  by  a  friend  of  mine  the  other  day — one  of 
your  great  swells.  He  said  I  ought  to  belong  to  the  Athenasum, 
and  he  would  propose  me,  and  the  committee  would  elect  me 
as  a  matter  of  course.  They  rejected  me  and  elected  a  bishop. 
And  then  people  are  surprised  that  the  Church  is  in  danger  !  " 


CHAPTER  LXXVIH. 

The  condition  of  England  at  the  meeting  of  Parliament  in 
1842  was  not  satisfactory.  The  depression  of  trade  in  the 
manufacturing  districts  seemed  overwhelming,  and  continued 
increasing  during  the  whole  of  the  year.  A  memorial  from 
Stockport  to  the  queen  in  the  spring  represented  that  more 
than  half  the  master  spinners  had  failed,  and  that  no  less  than 
three  thousand  dwelling-houses  were  untenanted.     One  fifth  of 


3i6  ENDYMION, 

the  population  of  Leeds  were  dependent  on  the  poor-rates. 
The  state  of  Sheffield  was  not  less  severe,  and  the  blast-fur- 
naces of  Wolverhampton  were  extinguished.  There  were 
almost  daily  meetings  at  Liverpool,  Manchester,  and  Leeds,  to 
consider  the  great  and  increasing  distress  of  the  country,  and  to 
induce  ministers  to  bring  forward  remedial  measures;  but  as 
these  were  impossible,  violence  was  soon  substituted  for  passion- 
ate appeals  to  the  fears  or  the  humanity  of  the  government. 
Vast  bodies  of  the  population  assembled  in  Stalybridge  and 
Ashton  and  Oldham,  and  marched  into  Manchester. 

For  a  week  the  rioting  was  unchecked,  but  the  government 
despatched  a  strong  military  force  to  that  city,  and  order  was 
restored. 

The  state  of  affairs  in  Scotland  was  not  more  favorable. 
There  were  food  riots  in  several  of  the  Scotch  towns,  and  in 
Glasgow  the  multitude  assembled,  and  then  commenced  what 
they  called  a  begging  tour,  but  which  was  really  a  progress  of  not 
disguised  intimidation.  The  economic  crisis  in  Ireland  was  yet 
to  come,  but  the  whole  of  that  country  was  absorbed  in  a  har- 
assing and  dangerous  agitation  for  the  repeal  of  the  union  be- 
tween the  two  countries. 

During  all  this  time  the  Anti-Corn-Law  League  was  holding 
regular  and  frequent  meetings  at  Manchester,  at  which  state- 
ments were  made  distinguished  by  great  eloquence  and  little 
scruple.  But  the  able  leaders  of  this  confederacy  never  suc- 
ceeded in  enlisting  the  sympathies  of  the  great  body  of  the 
population.  Between  the  masters  and  the  workmen  there  was 
an  alienation  of  feeling,  which  apparently  never  could  be 
removed.  This  reserve,  however,  did  not  enlist  the  working 
classes  on  the  side  of  the  government;  they  had  their  own 
object,  and  one  which  they  themselves  enthusiastically  cher- 
ished. And  this  was  the  charter,  a  political  settlement  which 
was  to  restore  the  golden  age,  and  which  the  master  manufac- 
turers and  the  middle  classes  generally  looked  upon  with  even 
more  apprehension  than  her  Majesty's  advisers.  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  add  that,  in  a  state  of  affairs  like  that  which  is  here 
faintly  but  still  faithfully  sketched,  the  rapid  diminution  of  the 
revenue  was  inevitable,  and  of  course  that  decline  mainly  oc- 
curred in  the  two  all-important  branches  of  the  customs  and 
excise. 

There  was  another  great  misfortune  also  which  at  this  trying 
time  hung  over  England.  The  country  was  dejected.  The 
humiliating  disasters  of  Afghanistan,  dark  narratives  of  which 


END  YM  ION,  317 

were  periodically  arriving,  had  produced  a  more  depressing 
effect  on  the  spirit  of  the  country  than  all  the  victories  and 
menaces  of  Napoleon  in  the  heyday  of  his  wild  career.  At 
home  and  abroad,  there  seemed  nothing  to  sustain  the  national 
spirit ;  financial  embarrassment,  commercial  and  manufacturing 
distress,  social  and  political  agitation  on  the  one  hand,  and,  on 
the  other,  the  loss  of  armies,  of  reputation,  perhaps  of  empire. 
It  was  true  that  these  external  misfortunes  could  hardly  be 
attributed  to  the  new  ministry — but  when  a  nation  is  thoroughly 
perplexed  and  dispirited,  they  soon  cease  to  make  distinctions 
between  political  parties.  The  country  is  out  of  sorts,  and  the 
"  government  "  is  held  answerable  for  the  disorder. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that,  though  the  new  ministry  were  sup- 
ported by  a  commanding  majority  in  Parliament,  and  that,  too, 
after  a  recent  appeal  to  the  country,  they  were  not  popular ;  it 
may  be  truly  said  they  were  even  the  reverse.  The  Opposition, 
on  the  contrary,  notwithstanding  their  discomfiture,  and,  on 
some  subjects,  their  disgrace,  were  by  no  means  disheartened, 
and  believed  that  there  were  economical  causes  at  work,  which 
must  soon  restore  them  to  power. 

The  minister  brought  forward  his  revision  of  the  tariff,  which 
was  denounced  by  the  League  as  futile,  and  in  which  anathema 
the  Opposition  soon  found  it  convenient  to  agree.  Had  the 
minister  included  in  his  measure  that  "total  and  immediate  re- 
peal "  of  the  existing  corn  laws  which  was  preached  by  many  as 
a  panacea,  the  effect  would  have  been  probably  much  the  same. 
No  doubt  a  tariff  may  aggravate,  or  may  mitigate,  such  a  con- 
dition of  comnjercial  depression  as  periodically  visits  a  state  of 
society  like  that  of  England,  but  it  does  not  produce  it.  It 
was  produced  in  1842,  as  it  has  been  produced  at  the  present 
time,  by  an  abuse  of  capital  and  credit,  and  by  a  degree  of 
production  which  the  wants  of  the  world  have  not  warranted. 

And  yet  all  this  time  there  were  certain  influences  at  work  in 
the  great  body  of  the  nation,  neither  foreseen  nor  for  some 
time  recognized,  by  statesmen  and  those  great  capitalists  on 
whose  opinion  statesmen  much  depend,  which  were  stirring,  as 
it  were,  like  the  unconscious  power  of  the  forces  of  nature,  and 
which  were  destined  to  baffle  all  the  calculations  of  persons  in 
authority  and  the  leading  spirits  of  all  parties,  strengthen  a  per- 
plexed administration,  confound  a  sanguine  opposition,  render 
all  the  rhetoric,  statistics  and  subscriptions  of  the  Anti-Corn- 
Law  League  fruitless,  and  absolutely  make  the  Chartists  forget 
the  Charter. 


3i8  ENDYMION, 

"  My  friends  will  not  assist  themselves  by  resisting  the  gov- 
ernment measures,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  with  his  usual  calm 
smile,  half  sceptical,  half  sympathetic.  "  The  measures  will 
do  no  good,  but  they  will  do  no  harm.  There  are  no  measures 
that  will  do  any  good  at  this  moment.  We  do  not  want  meas- 
ures; what  we  want  is  a  new  channel." 

That  is  exactly  what  was  wanted.  There  was  abundant 
capital  in  the  country  and  a  mass  of  unemployed  labor.  But 
the  markets  on  which  they  had  of  late  depended,  the  American 
especially,  were  overworked  and  overstocked,  and  in  some  in- 
stances were  not  only  overstocked,  but  disturbed  by  war,  as  the 
Chinese,  for  example — and  capital  and  labor  wanted  "  a  new 
channel." 

The  new  channel  came,  and  all  the  persons  of  authority, 
alike  political  and  commercial,  seemed  quite  surprised  that  it 
had  arrived ;  but  when  a  thing  or  a  man  are  wanted,  they  gen- 
erally appear.  One  or  two  lines  of  railway  which  had  been 
long  sleepily  in  formation,  about  this  time  were  finished ;  and 
one  or  two  lines  of  railway,  which  had  been  finished  for  some 
time  and  were  unnoticed,  announced  dividends,  and  not  con- 
temptible ones.  Suddenly  there  was  a  general  feeling  in  the 
country  that  its  capital  should  be  invested  in  railways;  that 
the  whole  surface  of  the  land  should  be  transformed  and  cov- 
ered, as  by  a  net-work,  with  these  mighty  means  of  commu- 
nication. When  the  passions  of  the  English,  naturally  an 
enthusiastic  people,  are  excited  on  a  subject  of  finance,  their 
will,  their  determination  and  resource,  are  irresistible.  This 
was  signally  proved  in  the  present  instance,  for  they  never 
ceased  subscribing  their  capital  until  the  sum 'intrusted  to  this 
new  form  of  investment  reached  an  amount  almost  equal  to  the 
national  debt ;  and  this,  too,  in  a  very  few  years.  The  immedi- 
ate effect  on  the  condition  of  the  country  was  absolutely  pro- 
digious. The  value  of  land  rose,  all  the  blast-furnaces  were 
relit;  a  stimulant  was  given  to  every  branch  of  the  home-trade ; 
the  amount  suddenly  paid  in  wages  exceeded  that  ever  known 
in  this  covmtry,  and  wages,  too,  at  a  high  rate.  Large  portions  of 
the  laboring  classes  not  only  enjoyed  comfort,  but  commanded 
luxury.  All  this  of  course  soon  acted  on  the  revenue,  and  both 
customs  and,  especially,  excise  soon  furnished  an  ample  surplus. 

It  cannot  be  pretended  that  all  this  energy  and  enterprise 
were  free  in  their  operation  from  those  evils  which,  it  seems, 
must  inevitalDly  attend  any  extensive  public  speculation,  how- 
ever  well-founded.     Many   of   the  scenes  and  circumstances 


END  YMION. 


319 


recalled  the  days  of  the  South  Sea  Scheme.  The  gambling  in 
shares  of  companies  which  were  formed  only  in  name  was 
without  limit.  The  principal  towns  of  the  North  established 
for  that  purpose  stock-exchanges  of  their  own,  and  Leeds  espe- 
cially, one-fifth  of  whose  population  had  been  authoritatively 
described  in  the  first  session  of  the  new  Parliament  as  depend- 
ent on  the  poor-rates,  now  boasted  of  a  stock-exchange  which 
in  the  extent  of  its  transactions  rivalled  that  of  the  metropolis. 
And  the  gambling  was  universal,  from  the  noble  to  the  mechanic. 
It  was  confined  to  no  class  and  to  no  sex.  The  scene  which 
took  place  at  the  Board  of  Trade  on  the  last  day  on  which  plans 
could  be  lodged,  and  when  midnight  had  arrived  while  crowds 
from  the  country  were  still  filling  the  hall  and  pressing  at  the 
doors,  deserved  and  required  for  its  adequate  representation 
the  genius  of  a  Hogarth.  This  was  the  day  on  which  it  was 
announced  that  the  total  number  of  railway  projects,  on  which 
deposits  had  been  paid,  had  reached  nearly  to  eight  hundred. 

What  is  remarkable  in  this  vast  movement,  in  which  so  many 
millions  were  produced,  and  so  many  more  promised,  was,  that 
the  great  leaders  of  the  financial  world  took  no  part  in  it.  The 
mighty  loan-mongers  on  whose  fiat  the  fate  of  kings  and  em- 
pires sometimes  depended  seemed  like  men  who,  witnessing 
some  eccentricity  of  nature,  watch  it  with  mixed  feelings  of 
curiosity  and  alarm.  Even  Lombard  Street,  which  never  was 
more  wanted,  was  inactive,  and  it  was  only  by  the  irresistible 
pressure  of  circumstances  that  a  banking  firm  which  had  an 
extensive  country  connection  was  ultimately  forced  to  take  the 
leading  part  that  was  required,  and  almost  unconsciously  lay 
the  foundation  of  the  vast  fortunes  which  it  has  realized,  and 
organize  the  varied  connection  which  it  now  commands.  All 
seemed  to  come  from  the  provinces  and  from  unknown  people 
in  the  provinces. 

But  in  all  affairs  there  must  be  a  leader,  and  a  leader  ap- 
peared. He  was  more  remarkable  than  the  movement  itself. 
He  was  a  London  tradesman,  though  a  member  of  Parliament 
returned  for  the  first  time  to  this  House  of  Commons.  This 
leader  was  Mr.  Vigo. 

Mr.  Vigo  had  foreseen  what  was  coming,  and  had  prepared 
for  it.  He  agreed  with  Mr.  Neuchatel,  what  was  wanted  was 
"a  new  channel."  That  channel  he  thought  he  had  discovered, 
and  he  awaited  it.  He  himself  could  command  no  inconsid- 
erable amount  of  capital,  and  he  had  a  following  of  obscure 
rich  friends  who  believed  in  him,  and  did  what  he  liked.     His 


320  END  YMION. 

daily  visits  to  the  City,  except  when  he  was  traveling  over  Eng- 
land, and  especially  the  north  and  midland  counties,  had  their 
purpose  and  bore  fruit.  He  was  a  director,  and  soon  the  chair- 
man and  leading  spirit,  of  a  railway  which  was  destined  to  be 
perhaps  our  most  important  one.  He  was  master  of  all  the 
details  of  the  business ;  he  had  arrived  at  conclusions  on  the 
question  of  the  gauges,  which  then  was  a  pons  asinoricm  for  the 
multitude,  and  understood  all  about  rolling-stock  and  permanent 
ways,  and  sleepers  and  branch  lines,  which  were  then  cabalistic 
terms  to  the  general.  In  his  first  session  in  Parliament  he  had 
passed  quietly  and  almost  unnoticed  several  bills  on  these  mat- 
ters, and  began  to  be  recognized  by  the  Committee  of  Selection 
as  a  member  who  ought  to  be  "  put  on  "  for  questions  of  this  kind. 
The  great  occasion  had  arrived,  and  Mr.  Vigo  was  equal  to 
it.  He  was  one  of  those  few  men  who  awake  one  day  and  find 
themselves  famous.  Suddenly  it  would  seem  that  the  name  of 
Mr.  Vigo  was  in  everybody's  mouth.  There  was  only  one  sub- 
ject which  interested  the  country,  and  he  was  recognized  as  the 
man  who  best  understood  it.  He  was  an  oracle,  and,  naturally, 
soon  became  an  idol.  The  tariff  of  the  ministers  was  forgotten, 
the  invectives  of  the  League  were  disregarded,  their  motions  for 
the  repeal  of  the  corn  laws  were  invariably  defeated  by  large  and 
contemptuous  majorities.  The  House  of  Commons  did  noth- 
ing but  pass  railway  bills,  measures  which  were  welcomed  with 
unanimity  by  the  House  of  Lords,  whose  estates  were  in  conse- 
quence daily  increasing  in  value.  People  went  to  the  gallery  to 
see  Mr.  Vigo  introduce  bills,  and  could  scarcely  restrain  their 
enthusiasm  at  the  spectacle  of  so  much  patriotic  energy,  which 
secured  for  them  premiums  for  shares,  which  they  held  in  under- 
takings of  which  the  first  sod  was  not  yet  cut.  On  one  morning, 
the  Great  Cloudland  Company,  of  which  he  was  chairman,  gave 
their  approval  of  twenty-six  bills,  which  he  immediately  intro- 
duced into  Parliament.  Next  day  the  Ebor  and  North  Cloud- 
land  sanctioned  six  bills  under  his  advice,  and  affirmed  deeds 
and  agreements  which  affected  all  the  principal  railway  projects 
in  Lancashire  and  Yorkshire.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  just 
time  to  hurry  from  one  meeting  to  another,  where  he  was  always 
received  with  rampant  enthusiasm,  Newcastle  and  the  extreme 
north  accepted  his  dictatorship.  During  a  portion  of  two  days, 
he  obtained  the  consent  of  shareholders  to  forty  bills  involving 
an  expenditure  of  ten  millions;  and  the  engagements  for  one 
session  alone  amounted  to  one  hundred  and  thirty  millions 
sterling. 


ENDYMION.  321 

Mr.  Neuchatel  shrugged  his  shoulders;  but  no  one  would 
listen  even  to  Mr.  Neuchatel,  when  the  prime-minister  himself, 
supposed  to  be  the  most  wary  of  men,  and  especially  on  finan- 
cial subjects,  in  the  very  white  heat  of  all  this  speculation, 
himself  raised  the  first  sod  on  his  own  estate  in  a  project  of 
extent  and  importance. 

Throughout  these  extraordinary  scenes,  Mr.  Vigo,  though 
not  free  from  excitement,  exhibited,  on  the  whole,  much  self- 
control.  He  was  faithful  to  his  old  friends,  and  no  one, 
profited  more  in  this  respect  than  Mr.  Rodney.  That  gentle- 
man became  the  director  of  several  lines,  and  vice-chair- 
man of  one  over  which  Mr.  Vigo  himself  presided.  No  one 
was  surprised  that  Mr.  Rodney,  therefore,  should  enter  Parlia- 
ment. He  came  in  by  virtue  of  one  of  those  petitions  that 
Tadpole  was  always  cooking  or  baffling.  Mr.  Rodney  was  a 
supporter  of  the  ministry,  and  Mr.  Vigo  was  a  Liberal;  but 
Mr.  Vigo  returned  Mr.  Rodney  to  Parliament  all  the  same,  and 
no  one  seemed  astonished  or  complained.  Political  connec- 
tion, political  consistency,  political  principle,  all  vanished  before 
the  fascination  of  premiums. 

As  for  Endymion,  the  great  man  made  him  friendly  and 
earnest  overtures,  and  offered,  if  he  would  give  his  time  to 
business — which,  as  he  was  in  opposition,  would  be  no  great 
sacrifice — to  promote  and  secure  his  fortune.  But  Endymion, 
after  due  reflection,  declined,  though  with  gratitude,  these 
tempting  proposals.  Ferrars  was  an  ambitious  man,  but  not 
too  imaginative  a  one.  He  had  a  main  object  in  life,  and  that 
was  to  regain  the  position  which  had  been  forfeited,  not  by  his 
own  fault.  His  grandfather  and  his  father  had  both  been  privy- 
counsellors  and  ministers  of  state.  There  had,  indeed,  been 
more  than  the  prospect  of  his  father  filling  a  very  prominent 
position.  All  had  been  lost,  but  the  secret  purpose  of  the  life 
of  Endymion  was  that,  from  being  a  clerk  in  a  public  office,  he 
should  arrive  by  his  own  energies  at  the  station  to  which  he 
seemed,  as  it  were,  born.  To  accomplish  this,  he  felt  that  the 
entire  devotion  of  his  labor  and  thought  was  requisite.  His 
character  was  essentially  tenacious,  and  he  had  already  real- 
ized no  inconsiderable  amount  of  political  knowledge  and 
official  experience.  His  object  seemed  difficult  and  distant, 
but  there  was  nothing  wild  or  visionary  in  its  pursuit.  He  had 
achieved  some  of  the  first  steps,  and  he  was  yet  very  young. 
There  were  friends  about  him,  however,  who  were  not  content 
with  what  they  deemed  his  moderate  ambition,  and  thought 


322  ENDYMION. 

they  discerned  in  him  qualities  which  might  enable  him  to 
mount  to  a  higher  stage.  However  this  might  be,  his  judgment 
was  that  he  must  resist  the  offers  of  Mr.  Vigo,  though  they 
were  sincerely  kind,  and  so  he  felt  them. 

In  the  mean  time  he  frequently  met  that  gentleman,  and  not 
merely  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Mr.  St.  Barbe  would  have 
been  frantically  envious  could  he  have  witnessed  and  perused 
the  social  invitations  that  fell  like  a  continuous  snow-storm  on 
the  favored  roof  of  Mr.  Vigo.  Mr.  Vigo  was  not  a  party  ques- 
tion. He  dined  with  high  patricians  who  forgot  their  political 
differences,  while  they  agreed  in  courting  the  presence  of  this 
great  benefactor  of  his  country.  The  fine  ladies  were  as  eager 
in  their  homage  to  this  real  patriot,  and  he  might  be  seen 
between  rival  countesses  who  emulated  each  other  in  their 
appreciation  of  his  public  services.  These  were  Mr.  Vigo's 
dangerous  suitors.  He  confessed  to  Endymion  one  day  that 
he  could  not  manage  the  great  ladies.  "  Male  swells,"  he  would 
say,  laughingly,  "  I  have  measured  physically  and  intellectu- 
ally." The  golden  youth  of  the  country  seemed  indeed  fasci- 
nated by  his  society,  repeated  his  sententious  bon-mots,  and 
applied  for  shares  in  every  company  which  he  launched  into 
prosperous  existence. 

Mr.  Vigo  purchased  a  splendid  mansion  in  St.  James  Square, 
where  invitations  to  his  banquets  were  looked  upon  almost  as 
commands.  His  chief  cook  was  one  of  the  celebrities  of  Eu- 
rope, and  though  he  had  served  emperors,  the  salary  he  received 
from  Mr.  Vigo  exceeded  any  one  he  had  hitherto  condescended 
to  pocket.  Mr.  Vigo  bought  estate,  hired  moors,  lavished  his 
money,  not  only  with  profusion,  but  with  generosity.  Every- 
thing was  placed  at  his  command,  and  it  appeared  that  there 
was  nothing  that  he  refused.  "  When  this  excitement  is  over," 
said  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  "  I  hope  to  induce  him  to  take  India." 

In  the  midst  of  this  commanding  effulgence,  the  calmer  beam 
of  Mr.  Rodney  might  naturally  pass  unnoticed,  yet  its  bright- 
ness was  clear  and  sustained.  The  Rodneys  engaged  a  dwell- 
ing of  no  mean  proportion  in  that  favored  district  of  South 
Kensington  which  was  then  beginning  to  assume  the  high 
character  it  has  since  obtained.  Their  equipages  were  distin- 
guished; and  when  Mrs.  Rodney  entered  the  Park  driving  her 
matchless  ponies  and  attended  by  outriders,  and  herself  bright 
as  Diana,  the  world  leaning  over  its  palings  witnessed  her 
anoearance  with  equal  delight  and  admiration. 


ENDYMION.  323 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 


We  have  rather  anticipated,  for  the  sake  of  the  subject  in  our 
iast  chapter,  and  we  must  now  recur  to  the  time  when,  after  his 
return  from  Paris,  Endymion  entered  into  what  was  virtually  his 
first  session  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Though  in  opposition, 
and  with  all  the  delights  of  the  most  charming  society  at  his 
command,  he  was  an  habitual  and  constant  attendant.  One 
might  have  been  tempted  to  believe  that  he  would  turn  out  to  be, 
though  a  working,  only  a  silent  member,  but  his  silence  was 
only  prudence.  He  was  deeply  interested  and  amused  in 
watching  the  proceedings,  especially  when  those  took  part  in 
them  with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  Job  Thornberry  occu- 
pied a  leading  position  in  the  debates.  He  addressed  the 
House  very  shortly  after  he  took  his  seat,  and,  having  a  pur- 
pose, and  a  most  earnest  one,  and  being  what  is  styled  a  repre- 
sentative man  of  his  subject,  the  House  listened  to  him  at  once, 
and  his  place  in  debate  was  immediately  recognized.  The 
times  favored  him,  especially  during  the  first  and  second  ses- 
sions, while  the  commercial  depression  lasted ;  afterwards,  he 
was  always  listened  to,  because  he  had  great  oratorical  gifts,  a 
persuasive  style  that  was  winning,  and,  though  he  had  no  incon- 
siderable powers  of  sarcasm,  his  extreme  tact  wisely  guided  him 
to  restrain  for  the  present  that  dangerous,  though  most  effec- 
tive, weapon. 

The  Pythagorean  school,  as  Waldershare  styled  Mr.  Bertie 
Tremaine  and  his  following,  very  much  amused  Endymion. 
The  heaven-born-minister  air  of  the  great  leader  was  striking. 
He  never  smiled,  or  at  any  rate  contemptuously.  Notice  of  a 
question  was  sometimes  publicly  given  from  this  bench,  but  so 
abstruse  in  its  nature  and  so  quaint  in  its  expression  that  the 
House  never  comprehended  it;  and  the  unfortunate  minister 
who  had  to  answer,  even  with  twenty-four  hours  study,  was 
obliged  to  commence  his  reply  by  a  conjectural  interpretation 
of  the  query  formerly  addressed  to  him.  But  though  they  were 
silent  in  the  House,  their  views  were  otherwise  powerfully  rep- 
resented. The  weekly  journal  devoted  to  their  principles  was 
sedulously  circulated  among  members  of  the  House.  It  was 
called  the  Precursor^  and  systematically  attacked  not  only 
every  institution,  but,  it  might  be  said,  every  law,  and  all  the 
manners  and  customs,  of  the  country.  Its  style  was  remark- 
able;  never  excited  or  impassioned,  but  frigid,  logical,  and  inci- 


324  ENDYMION. 

sive,  and  suggesting  appalling  revolutions  with  the  calmness 
with  which  one  would  narrate  the  ordinary  incidents  of  life. 
The  editor  of  the  Precursor  was  Mr.  Jawett,  selected  by  that 
great  master  of  human  nature,  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine.  When  it 
got  about  that  the  editor  of  this  fearful  journal  was  a  clerk  in 
a  public  office,  the  indignation  of  the  government,  or  at  least 
of  their  supporters,  was  extreme,  and  there  was  no  end  to  the 
punishments  and  disgrace  to  which  he  was  to  be  subjected ;  but 
Waldershare,  who  lived  a  good  deal  in  Bohemia,  was  essentially 
cosmopolitan,  and  dabbled  in  letters,  persuaded  his  colleagues 
not  to  make  the  editor  of  the  Precursor  a  martyr,  and  under- 
took with  their  authority  to  counteract  his  evil  purposes  by  lit- 
erary means  alone. 

Being  fully  empowered  to  take  all  necessary  steps  for  this 
object,  Waldershare  thought  that  there  was  no  better  mode  of 
arresting  public  attention  to  his  enterprise  than  by  engaging  for 
its  manager  the  most  renowned  pen  of  the  hour,  and  he  opened 
himself  on  the  subject  in  the  most  sacred  confidence  to  Mr.  St. 
Barbe.  That  gentleman,  invited  to  call  upon  a  minister,  sworn 
to  secrecy,  and  brimful  of  State  secrets,  could  not  long  restrain 
himself,  and  with  admirable  discretion  consulted  on  his  views 
and  prospects  Mr.  Endymion  Ferrars. 

"But  I  thought  you  were  one  of  us,"  said  Endymion;  "you 
asked  me  to  put  you  in  the  way  of  getting  into  Brookes's  }  " 

"  What  of  that .? "  said  St.  Barbe ;  "  and  when  you  remember 
what  the  Whigs  owe  to  literary  men,  they  ought  to  have  elected 
me  into  Brookes's  without  my  asking  for  it." 

"  Still,  if  you  be  on  the  other  side.?" 

"  It  is  nothing  to  do  with  sides,"  said  Mr.  St.  Barbe ;  "  this 
affair  goes  far  beyond  sides.  The  Precursor  wants  to  put  down 
the  Crown ;  I  shall  put  down  the  Precursor.  It  is  an  affair  of 
the  closet,  not  of  sides — an  affair  of  the  royal  closet,  sir.  I  am 
acting  for  the  Crown,  sir;  the  Crown  has  appealed  to  me.  I 
save  the  Crown,  and  there  must  be  personal  relations  with  the 
highest,"  and  he  looked  quite  fierce. 

"Well,  you  have  not  written  your  first  article  yet,"  said 
Endymion.     "I  shall  look  forward  to  it  with  much  interest." 

After  Easter,  Lord  Roehampton  said  to  Endymion  that  a 
question  ought  to  be  put  on  a  subject  of  foreign  policy  of 
importance,  and  on  which  he  thought  the  ministry  were  in  diffi- 
culties; "and  I  think  you  might  as  well  ask  it,  Endymion.  I 
will  draw  up  the  question,  and  you  will  give  notice  of  it.  It 
will  be  a  reconnoisance." 


LNDYMION.  325 

The  notice  of  this  question  was  the  first  time  Endymion 
opened  his  mouth  in  the  House  of  Commons.  It  was  an  humble 
and  not  a  very  hazardous  office ;  but  when  he  got  on  his  legs 
his  head  swam,  his  heart  beat  so  violently  that  it  was  like  a 
convulsion  preceding  death;  and  though  he  was  only  on  his 
legs  for  a  few  seconds,  all  the  sorrows  of  his  life  seemed  to  pass 
before  him.  When  he  sat  down  he  was  quite  surprised  that 
the  business  of  the  House  proceeded  as  usual,  and  it  was  only 
after  some  time  that  he  became  convinced  that  no  one  but  him- 
self was  conscious  of  his  sufferings,  or  that  he  had  performed 
a  routine  duty  otherwise  than  in  a  routine  manner. 

The  crafty  question,  however,  led  to  some  important  conse- 
quences. When  asked,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  the  minister 
himself  replied  to  it.  Waldershare,  with  whom  Endymion  dined 
at  Bellamy's  that  day,  was  in  no  good-humor  in  consequence. 

When  Lord  Roehampton  had  considered  the  ministerial  reply, 
he  said^to  Endymion,  "This  must  be  followed  up.  You  must 
move  for  papers.  It  will  be  a  good  opportunity  for  you,  for  the 
House  is  up  to  something  being  in  the  wind,  and  they  will 
listen.  It  will  be  curious  to  see  whether  the  minister  follows 
you.     If  so,  he  will  give  me  an  opening." 

Endymion  felt  that  this  was  the  crisis  of  his  life.  He  knew 
the  subject  well,  and  he  had  all  the  tact  and  experience  of  Lord 
Roehampton  to  guide  him  in  his  statement  and  his  arguments. 
He  had  also  the  great  feeling  that,  if  necessary,  a  powerful  arm 
would  support  him.  It  was  about  a  week  before  the  day  arrived, 
and  Endymion  slept  very  little  that  week,  and  the  night  before 
his  motion  not  a  wink.  He  almost  wished  he  was  dead  as  he 
walked  down  to  the  House,  in  the  hope  that  the  exercise  might 
remedy  or  improve  his  languid  circulation ;  but  in  vain,  and 
when  his  name  was  called  and  he  had  to  rise,  his  hands  and 
feet  were  like  ice. 

Lady  Roehampton  and  Lady  Montfort  were  both  in  the 
ventilator,  and  he  knew  it. 

It  might  be  said  that  he  was  sustained  by  his  utter  despair. 
He  felt  so  feeble  and  generally  imbecile  that  he  had  not  vitality 
enough  to  be  sensible  of  failure. 

He  had  a  kind  audience,  and  an  interested  one.  When  he 
opened  his  mouth,  he  forgot  his  first  sentence,  which  he  had 
long  prepared.  In  trying  to  recall  it  and  failing,  he  was  for  a 
moment  confused.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment;  the  unpre- 
meditated came  to  his  aid,  and  his  voice,  at  first  tremulous,  was 
recognized  as  distinct  and  rich.     There  was  a  murmur  of  sym- 


326  ENDYMION. 

pathy,  and  not  merely  from  his  own  side.  Suddenly,  both 
physically  and  intellectually,  he  was  quite  himself.  His  arrested 
circulation  flowed,  and  fed  his  stagnant  brain.  His  statement 
was  lucid,  his  arguments  were  difficult  to  encounter,  and  his 
manner  modest.  He  sat  down  amidst  general  applause  ;  and 
though  he  was  then  conscious  that  he  had  omitted  more  than 
one  point  on  which  he  had  relied,  he  was  on  the  whole  satisfied, 
and  recollected  that  he  might  use  them  in  reply,  a  privilege  to 
which  he  now  looked  forward  with  feelings  of  comfort  and 
confidence. 

The  minister  again  followed  him,  and  in  an  elaborate  speech. 
The  subject,  evidently  in  the  opinion  of  the  minister,  was  of 
too  delicate  and  difficult  a  character  to  trust  to  a  subordinate. 
Overwhelmed  as  he  was  with  the  labors  of  his  own  department, 
the  general  conduct  of  affairs,  and  the  leadership  of  the  House, 
he  still  would  undertake  the  representation  of  an  office  with 
whose  business  he  was  not  familiar.  Wary  and  accurate  he 
always  was,  but  in  discussions  on  foreign  affairs  he  never 
exhibited  the  unrivalled  facility  with  which  he  ever  treated 
a  commercial  or  financial  question,  or  that  plausible  prompt- 
ness with  which  at  a  moment's  notice  he  could  encounter  any 
difficulty  connected  with  domestic  administration. 

All  these  were  qualities  which  Lord  Roehampton  possessed 
with  reference  to  the  affairs  over  which  he  had  long  presided, 
and  in  the  present  instance,  following  the  minister,  he  was  par- 
ticularly happy.  He  had  a  good  case,  and  he  was  gratified  by 
the  success  of  Endymion.  He  complimented  him  and  con- 
futed his  opponent,  and  not  satisfied  with  demolishing  his  argu- 
ments, Lord  Roehampton  indulged  in  a  little  raillery  which  the 
House  enjoyed,  but  which  was  never  pleasing  to  the  more 
solemn  organization  of  his  rival. 

No  language  can  describe  the  fury  of  Waldershare  as  to  the 
events  of  this  evening.  He  looked  upon  the  conduct  of  the 
minister,  in  not  permitting  him  to  represent  his  department,  as 
a  decree  of  the  incapacity  of  his  subordinate,  and  virtual  ter- 
mination of  the  official  career  of  the  Under-secretary  of  State. 
He  would  have  resigned  the  next  day  had  it  not  been  for  the 
influence  of  Lady  Beaumaris,  who  soothed  him  by  suggesting 
that  it  would  be  better  to  take  an  early  opportunity  of  changing 
his  present  post  for  another. 

The  minister  was  wrong.  He  was  not  fond  of  trusting  youth, 
but  it  is  a  confidence  which  should  be  exercised,  particularly  in 
the  conduct  of   a  popular  assembly.     If   the  under-secretary 


ENDYMION.  '  327 

had  not  satisfactorily  answered  Endymion,  which  no  one  had  a 
right  to  assume,  for  Waldershare  was  a  brilliant  man,  the  minis- 
ter could  have  always  advanced  to  the  rescue  at  the  fitting 
time.  As  it  was,  he  made  a  personal  enemy  of  one  who  natur- 
ally might  have  ripened  into  a  devoted  follower,  and  who  from 
his  social  influences,  as  well  as  from  his  political  talents,  was  no 
despicable  foe. 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  political,  and  consequently  social, 
changes  that  had  taken  place,  no  very  considerable  alteration 
occurred  in  the  general  life  of  those  chief  personages  in  whose 
existence  we  have  attempted  to  interest  the  reader.  However 
vast  may  appear  to  be  the  world  in  which  we  move,  we  all  of  us 
live  in  a  limited  circle.  It  is  the  result  of  circumstances ;  of 
our  convenience  and  our  taste.  Lady  Beaumaris  became  the 
acknowledged  leader  of  Tory  society,  and  her  husband  was  so 
pleased  with  her  position,  and  so  proud  of  it,  that  he  in  a 
considerable  degree  sacrificed  his  own  pursuits  and  pleasures 
for  its  maintenance.  He  even  refused  the  mastership  of  a  cele- 
brated hunt,  which  had  once  been  an  object  of  his  highest 
ambition,  that  he  might  be  early  and  always  in  London  to  sup- 
port his  wife  in  her  receptions.  Imogene  herself  was  univers- 
ally popular.  Her  gentle  and  natural  manners,  blended  with  a 
due  degree  of  self-respect,  her  charming  appearance,  and  her 
ready  but  unaffected  sympathy,  won  every  heart.  Lady  Roe- 
hampton  was  her  frequent  guest.  Myra  continued  her  duties 
as  a  leader  of  society,  as  her  lord  was  anxious  that  the  diplo- 
matic world  should  not  forget  him.  These  were  the  two  prin- 
cipal and  rival  houses.  The  efforts  of  Lady  Montfort  were 
more  fitful,  for  they  were  to  a  certain  degree  dependent  on  the 
moods  of  her  husband.  It  was  observed  that  Lady  Beaumaris 
never  omitted  attending  the  receptions  of  Lady  Roehampton, 
and  the  tone  of  almost  reverential  affection  with  which  she  ever 
approached  Myra  was  touching  to  those  who  were  in  the  secret, 
but  they  were  few. 

No  great  change  occurred  in  the  position  of  Prince  Florestan, 
except  that,  in  addition  to  the  sports  to  which  he  was  apparently 
devoted,  he  gradually  began  to  interest  himself  in  the  turf.    He. 
had  bred  several  horses  of  repute,  and  one,  which  he  had  named 
Lady  Roehampton,  was  the  favorite  for  a  celebrated  race.    His 


328  ENDYMION. 

highness  was  anxious  that  Myra  should  honor  him  by  being 
his  guest.  This  had  never  occurred  before,  because  Lord 
Roehampton  felt  that  so  avowed  an  intimacy  with  a  personage  in 
the  peculiar  position  of  Prince  Florestan  was  hardly  becoming 
a  Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  affairs;  but  that  he  was  no 
longer,  and  being  the  most  good-natured  man  that  ever  lived, 
and  easily  managed  in  little  things,  he  could  not  refuse  Myra 
when  she  consulted  him,  as  they  call  it,  on  the  subject,  and  it 
was  settled  that  Lord  and  Lady  Roehampton  were  to  dine  with 
Prince  Florestan.  The  prince  was  most  anxious  that  Mr.  Sid- 
ney Wilton  should  take  this  occasion  of  consenting  to  a  recon- 
ciliation with  him,  and  Lady  Roehampton  exerted  herself  much 
for  this  end.  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  was  in  love  with  Lady  Roe- 
hampton, and  yet  on  thi^  point  he  was  inexorable.  Lord  and 
Lady  Beaumaris  went  and  Lady  Montfort,  to  whom  the  prince 
had  addressed  a  private  note  of  his  own  that  quite  captivated 
her,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Neuchatel  and  Adriana.  Waldershare, 
Endymion,  and  Baron  Sergius  completed  the  guests,  who  were 
received  by  the  Duke  of  St.  Angelo  and  a  couple  of  aides-de- 
camp. When  the  prince  entered,  all  rose,  and  the  ladies 
courtesied  very  low.  Lord  Roehampton  resumed  his  seat  im- 
mediately, saying  to  his  neighbor,  "  I  rose  to  show  my  respect 
to  my  host;  I  sit  down  to  show  that  I  look  upon  him  as  a  sub- 
ject like  myself." 

"A  subject  of  whom.? "  inquired  Lady  Montfort. 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  said  Lord  Roehampton,  smil- 
ing. 

The  Duke  of  St.  Angelo  was  much  disturbed  by  the  conduct 
of  Lord  Roehampton,  which  had  disappointed  his  calculations, 
and  he  went  about  lamenting  that  Lord  Roehampton  had  a 
little  gout. 

They  had  assembled  in  the  library,  and  dined  on  the  same 
floor.  The  prince  was  seated  between  Lady  Montfort,  whom 
he  accompanied  to  dinner,  and  Lady  Roehampton.  Adriana 
fell  to  Endymion's  lot.  She  looked  very  pretty,  was  beautifully 
dressed,  and,  for  her,  was  even  gay.  Her  companion  was  in 
good  spirits,  and  she  seemed  interested  and  amused.  The 
prince  never  spoke  much,  but  his  remarks  always  told.  He 
liked  murmuring  to  women,  but,  when  requisite,  he  could  throw 
a  fly  over  the  table  with  adroitness  and  effect.  More  than  once 
during  the  dinner  he  whispered  to  Lady  Roehampton,  "  This  is 
too  kind  —  your  coming  here.  But  you  have  always  been  my 
best  friend."     The  dinner  would  have  been  lively  and  success- 


ENDYMION.  329 

ful  even  if  Waldershare  had  not  been  there,  but  he  to-day  was 
exuberant  and  irresistible.  His  chief  topic  was  abuse  of  the 
government  of  which  he  was  a  member,  and  he  lavished  all  his 
powers  of  invective  and  ridicule  alike  on  the  imbecility  of  their 
policy  and  their  individual  absurdities.  All  this  much  amused 
Lady  Montfort,  and  gave  Lord  Roehampton  an  opportunity  to 
fool  the  Under-Secretary  of  State  to  the  top  of  his  bent. 

"  If  you  do  not  take  care,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel,  "  they  will 
turn  you  out." 

"I  wish  they  would,"  said  Waldershare.  "  That  is  what  I  am 
longing  for.  I  should  go  then  all  over  the  country  and  address 
public  meetings.  It  would  be  the  greatest  thing  since  Sach- 
everell." 

"  Our  people  have  not  behaved  well  to  Mr.  Waldershare," 
whispered  Imogene  to  Lord  Roehampton,  "but  I  think  we  shall 
put  it  all  right." 

"Do  you  believe  it.^"  inquired  Lady  Montfort  of  Lord  Roe- 
hampton. He  had  been  speaking  to  her  for  some  little  time  in 
a  hushed  tone,  and  rather  earnestly. 

"  Indeed  I  do;  I  cannot  well  see  what  there  is  to  doubt  about 
it.  We  know  the  father  very  well  —  an  excellent  man  ;  he  was 
the  parish  priest  of  Lady  Roehampton  before  her  marriage, 
when  she  lived  in  the  country.  And  we  know  from  him  that 
more  than  a  year  ago  something  was  contemplated.  The  son 
gave  up  his  living  then ;  he  has  remained  at  Rome  ever  since. 
And  now  I  am  told  he  returns  to  us,  the  Pope's  legate  and  an 
archbishop  in  partibus'' 

"It  is  most  interesting,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "I  was  always 
his  great  admirer." 

"I  know  that;  you  and  Lady  Roehampton  made  me  go  and 
hear  him.     The  father  will  be  terribly  distressed." 

"  I  do  not  care  at  all  about  the  father,"  said  Lady  Montfort ; 
"  but  the  son  had  such  a  fine  voice  and  was  so  very  good-look- 
ing!    I  hope  I  shall  see  him." 

They  were  speaking  of  Nigel  Penruddock,  whose  movements 
had  been  a  matter  of  much  mystery  during  the  last  two  years. 
Rumors  of  his  having  been  received  into  the  Roman  Church  had 
been  often  rife ;  sometimes  flatly,  and  in  time  faintly,  contra- 
dicted. Now  the  facts  seemed  admitted.;  and  it  would  appear 
that  he  was  about  to  return  to  England  not  only  as  a  Roman 
Catholic,  but  as  a  distinguished  priest  of  the  Church,  and,  it 
was  said,  even  the  representative  of  the  Papacy. 

All  the  guests  rose  at  the  same  time  —  a  pleasant  habit  —  and 


330  END  YM ION, 

went  up  stairs  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  saloons.  Lord  Roe- 
hampton  seated  himself  by  Baron  Sergius,  with  whom  he  was 
always  glad  to  converse.  "We  seem  here  quiet  and  content.?" 
said  the  ex-minister,  inquiringly. 

"I  hope  so,  and  I  think  so,"  said  Serguis.  "He  believes  in 
his  star,  and  will  leave  everything  to  its  influence.  There  are 
to  be  no  more  adventures." 

"  It  must  be  a  great  relief  to  Lord  Roehampton  to  have  got 
quit  of  office,"  said  Mrs.  Neuchatel  to  Lady  Roehampton.  "  I 
always  pitied  him  so  much.  I  never  can  understand  why  people 
voluntarily  incur  such  labors  and  anxiety." 

"You  should  join  us,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel  to  Waldershare. 
"They  would  be  very  glad  to  see  you  at  Brookes's." 

"  Brookes's  may  join  the  October  Club,  which  I  am  going  to 
revive,''  said  Waldershare. 

"  I  never  heard  of  that  club,"  said  Mr.  Neuchatel. 

"  It  was  a  much  more  important  thing  than  the  Bill  of  Rights 
or  the  Act  of  Settlement,"  said  Waldershare,  "all  the  same." 

"  I  want  to  see  his  mother's  portrait,  in  the  farther  saloon," 
said  Lady  Montfort  to  Myra. 

"  Let  us  go  together."  And  Lady  Roehampton  rose,  and 
the  went. 

It  was  a  portrait  of  Queen  Agrippina  by  a  master  hand,  and 
admirably  illumined  by  reflected  light,  so  that  it  seemed  to  live. 

"  She  must  have  been  very  beautiful,"  said  Lady  Montfort. 

"  Mr  Sidney  Wilton  was  devotedly  attached  to  her,  my  lord 
has  told  me,"  said  Lady  Roehampton. 

"  So  many  were  devotedly  attached  to  her,"  said  Lady  Mont- 
fort. 

"Yes;  she  was  like  Mary  of  Scotland,  whom  some  men  are 
in  love  with  even  to  this  day.  Her  spell  was  irresistible. 
There  are  no  such  women  now." 

"Yes;  there  is  one,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  suddenly  turning 
round  and  embracing  Lady  Roehampton ;  "  and  I  know  she 
hates  me,  because  she  thinks  I  prevent  her  brother  from 
marrying  " 

"  Dear  Lady  Montfort,  how  can  you  use  such  strong  expres- 
sions !  I  am  sure  there  can  only  be  one  feeling  of  Endy- 
mion's  friends  to  you,  and  that  is  gratitude  for  your  kindness  to 
him." 

"  I  have  done  nothing  for  him  ;  I  can  do  nothing  for  him.  I 
felt  that  when  we  were  trying  to  get  him  into  Parliament.     If  he 


ENDYMION, 


33  Tf 


could  marry,  and  be  independent  and  powerful  and  rich,  it 
would  be  better,  perhaps,  for  all  of  us." 

"  I  wish  he  were  independent  and  powerful  and  rich,"  said 
Myra,  musingly.  "  That  would  be  a  fairy  tale.  At  present  he 
must  be  content  that  he  has  some  of  the  kindest  friends  in  the 
world.'* 

"  He  interests  me  very  much ;  no  one  so  much.  I  am  sin- 
cerely, even  deeply,  attached  to  him ;  but  it  is  like  your  love,  it 
is  a  sister's  love.  There  is  only  one  person  I  really  love  in  the 
world,  and,  alas !  he  does  not  love  me."  And  her  voice  was 
tremulous. 

"  Do  not  say  such  things,  dear  Lady  Montfort.  I  never  can 
believe  what  you  sometimes  intimate  on  that  subject.  Do  you 
know,  I  think  it  a  little  hallucination." 

Lady  Montfort  shook  her  head  with  a  truly  mournful  expres- 
sion, and  then  suddenly,  her  beautiful  face  wreathed  with  smiles, 
she  said,  in  a  gay  voice,  "  We  will  not  think  of  such  sorrows. 
I  wish  them  to  be  entombed  in  my  heart,  but  the  spectres  will 
rise  sometimes.  Now  about  your  brother.  I  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  it  would  not  be  a  great  loss  to  me  if  he  married,  but  I 
wish  him  to  marry  if  you  do.  For  myself,  I  must  have  a  male 
friend,  and  he  must  be  very  clever,  and  thoroughly  understand 
politics.  You  know  you  deprived  me  of  Lord  Roehampton,'* 
she  continued,  smilingly,  "who  was  everything  I  could  desire; 
and  the  Count  of  Ferroll  would  have  suited  me  excellently,  but 
then  he  ran  away.  Now  Endymion  could  not  easily  run  away, 
and  he  is  so  agreeable  and  so  intelligent  that  at  last  I  thought  I 
had  found  a  companion  worth  helping — and  I  meant,  and  still 
mean,  to  work  hard — until  he  is  prime-minister." 

''  I  have  my  dreams  too  about  that,"  said  Lady  R^ehampton  j 
"but  we  are  all  about  the  same  age,  and  can  wait  a  little." 

"  He  cannot  be  minister  too  soon,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "  It 
was  not  being  minister  soon  that  ruined  Charles  Fox." 

The  party  broke  up.  The  prince  made  a  sign  to  Walder- 
share,  which  meant  a  confidential  cigar,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
they  were  alone  together. 

"  What  women  !  "  exclaimed  the  prince.  "  Not  to  be  rivalled 
in  this  city,  and  yet  quite  unlike  each  other." 

"  And  which  do  you  admire  most,  sir  1  "  said  Waldershare. 

The  prince  trimmed  his  cigar,  and  then  he  said,  "  I  will  tell 
you,  this  day  five  years." 


tS32  ENDYMION. 


CHAPTER   LXXXI. 

The  ecclesiastical  incident  mentioned  at  the  dinner  described 
in  our  last  chapter  produced  a  considerable  effect  in  what  is 
called  society.  Nigel  Penruddock  had  obtained  great  celebrity 
as  a  preacher,  while  his  extreme  doctrines  and  practices  had 
alike  amazed,  fascinated,  and  alarmed  a  large  portion  of  the 
public.  For  some  time  he  had  withdrawn  from  the  popular 
gaze,  but  his  individuality  was  too  strong  to  be  easily  forgotten, 
even  if  occasional  paragraphs  as  to  his  views  and  conduct, 
published,  contradicted,  and  reiterated,  were  not  sufficient  to 
sustain,  and  even  stimulate,  curiosity.  That  he  was  about  to 
return  to  his  native  land  as  the  Legate  of  his  Holiness  was  an 
event  which  made  many  men  look  grave,  and  some  female 
hearts  flutter. 

The  memory  of  Lady  Roehampton  could  not  escape  from 
the  past,  and  she  could  not  recall  it  and  all  the  scenes  at  Hurst- 
ley  without  emotion ;  and  Lady  Montfort  remembered  with 
some  pride  and  excitement  that  the  Legate  of  the  Pope  had 
once  been  one  of  her  heroes.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  no 
wish  to  avoid  his  old  acquaintances;  for  shortly  after  his  arrival, 
and  after  he  had  assembled  his  suffragans  and  instructed  the 
clergy  of  his  district,  for  dioceses  did  not  then  exist,  Archbishop 
Penruddock,  for  so  the  Metropolitan  of  Tyre  simply  styled  him- 
self, called  upon  both  these  ladies. 

His  first  visit  was  to  Myra,  and,  notwithstanding  her  disci- 
plined self-control,  her  intense  pride,  and  the  deep  and  daring 
spirit  which  always  secretly  sustained  her,  she  was  nervous  and 
agitated,  buf  only  in  her  boudoir.  When  she  entered  the  saloon 
to  welcome  him,  she  seemed  as  calm  as  if  she  were  going  to  an 
evening  assembly. 

Nigel  was  changed.  Instead  of  that  anxious  any  moody  look 
which  formerly  marred  the  refined  beauty  of  his  countenance, 
his  glance  was  calm  and  yet  radiant.  He  was  thinner,  it  might 
almost  be  said  emaciated,  which  seemed  to  add  height  to  his 
tall  figure. 

Lady  Roehampton  need  not  have  been  nervous  about  the 
interview  and  the  pain  of  its  inevitable  associations.  Except 
one  allusion  at  the  end  of  his  visit,  when  his  grace  mentioned 
some  petty  grievance  of  which  he  wished  to  relieve  his  clergy, 
and  said,  "I  think  I  will  consult  your  brother;  being  in  the 
Opposition,_he  will  be  less  embarrassed  than  some  of  my  friends 


END  YM ION.  333 

in  the  government,  or  their  supporters,"  he  never  referred  to  the 
past.  All  he  spoke  of  was  the  magnitude  of  his  task,  the  im- 
mense but  inspiring  labors  which  awaited  him,  and  his  deep 
sense  of  his  responsibility.  Nothing  but  the  divine  principle 
of  the  Church  could  sustain  him.  He  was  at  one  time  hopeful 
that  his  Holiness  might  have  thought  the  time  ripe  for  the  res- 
toration of  the  national  hierarchy,  but  it  was  decreed  otherwise. 
Had  it  been  accorded,  no  doubt  it  would  have  assisted  him. 
A  prelate  i7i  partikiis  is,  in  a  certain  sense,  a  stranger,  whatever 
his  duties,  and  the  world  is  more  willing  when  it  is  appealed  to 
by  one  who  has  "  a  local  habitation  and  a  name  ;"  he  is  identi- 
fied with  the  people  among  whom  he  lives.  There  was  much 
to  do.  The  state  of  the  Catholic  poor  in  his  own  district  was 
heart-rending.  He  never  could  have  conceived  such  misery, 
and  that,  too,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Abbey.  The  few  schools 
which  existed  were  wretched,  and  his  first  attention  must  be 
given  to  this  capital  deficiency.  He  trusted  much  to  female  aid. 
He  meant  to  invite  the  great  Catholic  ladies  to  unite  with  him 
in  a  common  labor  of  love.  In  this  great  centre  of  civilization 
and  wealth  and  power,  there  was  need  of  the  spirit  of  a  St. 
Ursula. 

No  one  seemed  more  pleased  by  the  return  of  Archbishop 
Penruddock  than  Lord  Montfort.  He  appeared  to  be  so 
deeply  interested  in  his  grace's  mission,  sought  his  society  so 
often,  treated  him  with  such  profound  respect,  almost  ceremony, 
asked  so  many  questions  about  what  was  happening  at  Rome, 
and  what  was  going  to  be  done  here,  that  Nigel  might  have 
been  pardoned  if  he  did  not  despair  of  ultimately  inducing  Lord 
Montfort  to  return  to  the  faith  of  his  illustrious  ancestors.  And 
yet,  all  this  time  Lord  Montfort  was  only  amusing  himself;  a 
new  character  was  to  him  a  new  toy,  and  when  he  could  not 
find  one,  he  would  dip  into  the  "  Memoirs  of  Saint  Simon." 

Instead  of  avoiding  society,  as  was  his  wont  in  old  days,  the 
archbishop  sought  it.  And  there  was  nothing  exclusive  in  his 
social  habits;  all  classes  and  all  creeds,  all  conditions  and 
orders  of  men,  were  alike  interesting  to  him ;  they  were  part  of 
the  mighty  community  with  all  whose  pursuits  and  passions  and 
interests  and  occupations  he  seemed  to  sympathize,  but  respect- 
ing which  he  had  only  one  object  —  to  bring  them  back  once 
more  to  that  imperial  fold  from  which,  in  an  hour  of  darkness 
and  distraction,  they  had  miserably  wandered.  The  conversion 
of  England  was  deeply  engraven  on  the  heart  of  Penruddock ; 
it  was  his  constant  purpose  and  his  daily  and  nightly  prayer. 


334  E^D  YMION. 

So  the  archbishop  was  seen  everywhere,  even  at  fashionable 
assemblies.  He  was  a  frequent  guest  at  banquets  which  he 
never  tasted,  for  he  was  a  smiHng  ascetic ;  and  though  he 
seemed  to  be  preaching  or  celebrating  high-mass  in  every  part 
of  the  metropolis,  organizing  schools,  establishing  convents,  and 
building  cathedrals,  he  could  find  time  to  move  philanthropic 
resolutions  at  middle-class  meetings,  attend  learned  associations, 
and  even  occasionally  send  a  paper  to  the  Royal  Society. 

The  person  who  fell  most  under  the  influence  of  the  arch- 
bishop was  Waldershare.  He  was  fairly  captivated  by  him. 
Nothing  would  satisfy  Waldershare  till  he  had  brought  the  arch- 
bishop and  Prince  Florestan  together.  "You  are  a  Roman 
Catholic  prince,  sir,"  he  would  say.  "It  is  absolute  folly  to 
forego  such  a  source  of  influence  and  power  as  the  Roman  Cath- 
olic Church.  Here  is  your  man  ;  a  man  made  for  the  occasion, 
a  man  who  may  be  pope.  Come  to  an  understanding  with  him, 
and  I  believe  you  will  regain  your  throne  in  a  year." 

"  But,  my  dear  Waldershare,  it  is  very  true  I  am  a  Roman 
Catholic,  but  I  am  also  the  head  of  the  Liberal  party  in  my 
country,  and  perhaps,  also,  on  the  Continent  of  Europe,  and 
they  are  not  particularly  affected  to  archbishops  and  popes." 

"  Old-fashioned  twaddle  of  the  Liberal  party,"  exclaimed 
Waldershare.  "  There  is  more  true  democracy  in  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  than  in  all  the  secret  societies  of  Europe." 

*'  There  is  something  in  that,"  said  the  prince,  musingly,  "  and 
my  friends  are  Roman  Catholics,  nominally  Roman  Catholics. 
If  I  were  quite  sure  your  man  and  the  priests  generally  were 
nominally  Roman  Catholics,  something  might  be  done." 

"As  for  that,"  said  Waldershare,  "sensible  men  are  all  of  the 
same  religion." 

"And  i)ray,  what  is  that.?"  inquired  the  prince. 

"Sensible  men  never  tell." 

Perhaps  there  was  no  family  wliich  suited  him  more,  and 
where  the  archbishop  became  more  intimate,  than  the  Neucha- 
tels.  He  very  much  valued  a  visit  to  Hainault,  and  the  miscel- 
laneous and  influential  circles  he  met  there — merchant-princes 
and  great  powers  of  Lombard  Street  and  the  Stock  Exchange. 
The  governor  of  the  l)ank  happened  to  be  a  High-Churchman, 
and  listened  to  the  archbishop  with  evident  relish.  Mrs.  Neu- 
chatel  also  acknowledged  the  spell  of  his  society,  and  he  quite 
agreed  with  her  that  people  should  be  neither  so  poor  nor  so 
rich.  She  had  long  mused  over  plans  of  social  amelioration, 
and  her  new  ally  was  to  teach  her  how  to  carry  them  into  prac- 


END  YMION.  335 

tice.  As  for  Mr.  Neuchatel,  he  was  pleased  that  his  wife  was 
amused,  and  liked  the  arclibishop  as  he  liked  all  clever  men. 
"  You  know,"  he  would  say,  "  I  am  in  favor  of  all  churches,  pro- 
vided, my  lord  archbishop,  they  do  not  do  anything  very  foolish. 
Eh  ?  So  I  shall  subscribe  to  your  schools  with  great  pleasure. 
We  cannot  have  too  many  schools,  even  if  they  only  keep  young 
people  from  doing  mischief." 


CHAPTER   LXXXII. 

The  prosperity  of  the  country  was  so  signal  while  Mr.  Vigo 
was  unceasingly  directing  millions  of  our  accumulated  capital, 
and  promises  of  still  more,  into  the  "new  channel,"  that  it 
seemed  beyond  belief  that  any  change  of  administration  could 
ever  occur,  at  least  in  the  experience  of  the  existing  generation. 
The  minister  to  whose  happy  destiny  it  had  fallen  to  gratify  the 
large  appetites  and  reckless  consuming  powers  of  a  class  now 
first  known  in  our  social  hierarchy  as  "Navvies,"  was  hailed  as 
a  second  Pitt.  The  countenance  of  the  Opposition  was  habitu- 
ally dejected,  with  the  exception  of  those  members  of  it  on 
whom  Mr.  Vigo  graciously  conferred  shares,  and  Lady  Montfort 
taunted  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  with  inquiries  why  he  and  his  friends 
had  not  made  railroads,  instead  of  inventing  nonsense  about 
cheap  bread.  Job  Thornberry  made  wonderful  speeches  in 
favor  of  total  and  immediate  repeal  of  the  corn  laws,  and  the 
Liberal  party,  while  they  cheered  him,  privately  expressed  their 
regret  that  such  a  capital  speaker,  who  might  be  anything,  was 
not  a  practical  man.  Low  prices,  abundant  harvests,  and  a 
thriving  commerce  had  rendered  all  appeals,  varied  even  by 
the  persuasive  ingenuity  of  Thornberry,  a  wearisome  iteration ; 
and,  though  the  League  had  transplanted  itself  from  Manchester 
to  the  metropolis,  and  hired  theatres  for  their  rhetoric,  the  close 
of  1845  found  them  nearly  reduced  to  silence. 

Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  who  was  always  studying  the  spirit  of 
the  age,  announced  to  the  initiated  that  Mr.  Vigo  had  some- 
thing of  the  character  and  structure  of  Napoleon,  and  that  he 
himself  began  to  believe  that  an  insular  nation,  with  such  an 
enormous  appetite,  was  not  adapted  to  cosmopolitan  principles, 
which  were  naturally  of  a  character  more  spiritual  and  abstract. 
Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  asked  Mr.  Vigo  to  dinner,  and  introduced 
him  to  several  distinguished  youths  of  extreme  opinions,  who 
were  dining  off  gold  plate.     Mr.  Vigo  was  much  flattered  by 


336  ENDYMION. 

his  visit;  his  host  made  much  of  him,  and  he  heard  many 
things  on  the  principles  of  government,  and  even  of  society,  in 
the  largest  sense  of  the  expression,  which  astonished  and 
amused  him.  In  the  course  of  the  evening  he  varied  the  con- 
versation— one  which  became  the  classic  library  and  the  busts 
of  the  surrounding  statesmen  —  by  promising  to  most  of  the 
guests  allotments  of  shares  in  a  new  company,  not  yet  launched, 
but  whose  securities  were  already  at  a  high  premium. 

Endymion,  in  the  mean  time,  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  his 
way.  Guided  by  the  experience,  unrivalled  knowledge,  and 
consummate  tact  of  Lord  Roehampton,  he  habitually  made 
inquiries  or  brought  forward  motions  which  were  evidently 
inconvenient  or  embarrassing  to  the  ministry;  and  the  very 
circumstance  that  he  was  almost  always  replied  to  by  the  prime- 
minister  elevated  him  in  the  estimation  of  the  House  as  much 
as  the  pertinence  of  his  questions,  and  the  accurate  information 
on  which  he  founded  his  motions.  He  had  not  taken  the 
House  with  a  rush  like  Job  Thornberry,  but,  at  the  end  of  three 
sessions,  he  was  a  personage  universally  looked  upon  as  one 
who  was  "certain  to  have  office." 

There  was  another  new  member  who  had  also  made  way, 
though  slowly,  and  that  was  Mr.  Trenchard;  he  had  distin- 
guished himself  on  a  difficult  committee,  on  which  he  had 
guided  a  perplexed  minister,  who  was  chairman,  through  many 
intricacies.  Mr.  Trenchard  watched  the  operations  of  Mr. 
Vigo  with  a  calm,  cold  scrutiny,  and  ventured  one  day  to  im- 
part his  convictions  to  Endymion  that  there  were  breakers 
ahead.  "  Vigo  is  exhausting  the  floating  capital  of  the  country," 
he  said,  and  he  offered  to  Endymion  to  give  him  all  the  neces- 
sary details  if  he  would  call  the  attenpon  Of  the  House  to  the 
matter.  Endymion  declined  to  do  this,  chiefly  because  he 
wished  to  devote  himself  to  foreign  affairs,  and  thought  the 
House  would  hardly  brook  his  interference  also  in  finance. 
So  he  strongly  advised  Trenchard  himself  to  undertake  the 
task.  Trenchard  was  modest,  and  a  little  timid  about  speak- 
ing; so  it  was  settled  that  he  should  consult  the  leaders  on  the 
question,  and  particularly  the  gentleman  who  it  was  supposed 
would  be  their  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  if  ever  they  were 
again  called  upon  to  form  a  ministry.  This  right  honorable 
individual  listened  to  Trenchard  with  the  impatience  which 
became  a  man  of  great  experience  addressed  by  a  novice,  and 
concluded  the  interview  by  saying  that  hje  thought  "  there  was 
nothing  in  it;  "  at  the  same  time  he  would  turn  it  in  his  mind, 


END  YM ION.  337 

and  consult  some  practical  men.  Accordingly,  the  ex-  and 
future  minister  consulted  Mr.  Vigo,  who  assured  him  that  he 
was  quite  right;  that  "  there  was  nothing  in  it,"  and  that  the 
floating  capital  of  the  country  was  inexhaustible. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  physical  prosperity,  one  fine  day  in 
August,  Parliament  having  just  been  prorogued,  an  unknown 
dealer  in  potatoes  wrote  to  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  informed 
him  that  he  had  reason  to  think  that  a  murrain  had  fallen  over 
the  whole  of  the  potato  crops  in  England,  and  that,  if  it  ex- 
tended to  Ireland,  the  most  serious  consequences  must  ensue. 

This  mysterious  but  universal  sickness  of  a  single  root  changed 
the  history  of  the  world. 

"  There  is  no  gambling  like  politics,"  said  Lord  Roehampton, 
as  he  glanced  at  the  Times  at  Princedown ;  "  four  cabinets  in 
one  week ;  the  government  must  be  more  sick  than  the  pota- 
toes." 

"  Berengaria  always  says,"  said  Lord  Montfort,  "  that  you 
should  see  Princedown  in  summer.  I,  on  the  contrary,  maintain 
it  is  essentially  a  winter  residence,  for,  if  there  ever  be  a  sun- 
beam in  England,  Princedown  always  catches  it.  Now,  to-day, 
one  might  fancy  one's  self  at  Cannes." 

Lord  Montfort  was  quite  right,  but  even  the  most  wilful  and 
selfish  of  men  was  generally  obliged  to  pass  his  Christmas  at 
his  northern  castle.  Montforts  had  passed  their  Christmas  in 
that  grim  and  mighty  dwelling-place  for  centuries.  Even  he  was 
not  strong  enough  to  contend  against  such  tradition.  Besides, 
every  one  loves  power,  even  if  they  do  not  know  what  to  do 
with  it.  There  are  such  things  a-s  memberships  for  counties 
which,  if  public  feeling  be  not  outraged,  are  hereditary,  and 
adjacent  boroughs,  which,  with  a  little  management  and  much 
expense,  become  reasonable  and  loyal.  If  the  flag  were  rarely 
to  wave  on  the  proud  keep  of  Montfort,  all  these  satisfactory 
circumstances  would  be  greatly  disturbed  and  bafiled ;  and  if 
the  ancient  ensign  did  not  promise  welcome  and  hospitality  at 
Christmas,  some  of  the  principal  uses  even  of  Earls  of  Mont- 
fort might  be  questioned. 

There  was  another  reason,  besides  the  distance  and  the  clime, 
why  Lord  Montfort  disliked  the  glorious  pile  which  every  Eng- 
lishman envied  him  for  possessing.  The  mighty  domain  of 
Montfort  was  an  estate  in  strict  settlement.  Its  lord  could  do 
nothing  but  enjoy  its  convenience  and  its  beauty,  and  expend 
its  revenues.  Nothing  could  be  sold  or  bought,  not  the  slightest 
alteration  —  according  to  Loitl  Montfort  —  be  made,  without 


338  END  YMION. 

applying  to  trustees  for  their  sanction.  Lord  Montfert  spoke 
of  this  pitiable  state  of  affairs  as  if  he  were  describing  the 
serfdom  of  the  Middle  Ages.  "  If  I  were  to  pull  this  bell-rope, 
and  it  came  down,"  he  would  say,  "  I  should  have  to  apply  to 
the  trustees  before  it  could  be  arranged." 

Such  a  humiliating  state  of  affairs  had  induced  his  lordship, 
on  the  very  first  occasion,  to  expend  half  a  million  of  accumula- 
tions, which  were  at  his  own  disposal,  in  the  purchase  of 
Princedown,  which  certainly  was  a  very  different  residence  from 
Montfort  Castle,  alike  in  its  clime  and  character. 

Princedown  was  situated  in  a  southern  county,  hardly  on  a 
southern  coast,  for  it  was  ten  miles  from  the  sea,  though  enchant- 
ing views  of  the  Channel  were  frequent  and  exquisite.  It  was 
a  palace  built  in  old  days  upon  the  downs,  but  sheltered  and 
screened  from  every  hostile  wind.  The  full  warmth  of  the 
south  fell  upon  the  vast  but  fantastic  pile  of  the  Renaissance 
style,  said  to  have  been  built  by  that  gifted  but  mysterious 
individual,  John  of  Padua,  The  gardens  were  wonderful, 
terrace  upon  terrace,  and  on  each  terrace  a  tall  fountain.  But 
the  most  peculiar  feature  was  the  park,  which  was  undulating 
and  extensive,  but  its  timber  entirely  ilex :  single  trees  of  an 
age  and  size  not  common  in  that  tree,  and  groups  and  clumps 
of  ilex,  but  always  ilex.  Beyond  the  park,  and  extending  far 
into  the  horizon,  was  Princedown  forest,  the  dominion  of  the 
red  deer. 

The  Roehamptons  and  Endymion  were  the  only  permanent 
visitors  at  Princedown  at  this  moment,  but  every  day  brought 
guests  who  stayed  eight-and-forty  hours,  and  then  flitted.  Lady 
Montfort,  like  the  manager  of  a  theater,  took  care  that  there 
should  be  a  succession  of  novelties  to  please  or  to  surprise  the 
wayward  audience  for  whom  she  had  to  cater.  On  the  whole, 
Lord  Montfort  was,  for  him,  in  an  extremely  good-humor;  never 
very  ill ;  Princedown  was  the  only  place  where  he  never  was 
very  ill;  he  was  a  little  excited,  too,  by  the  state  of  politics, 
though  he  did  not  exactly  know  why;  "though,  I  suppose,"  he 
would  say  to  Lord  Roehampton,  "if  you  do  come  in  again, 
there  will  be  no  more  nonsense  about  O'Connell  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  If  you  are  prudent  on  that  head,  and  carry  a 
moderate  fixed  duty,  not  too  high,  say  ten  shillings — that  would 
satisfy  everybody — I  do  not  see  why  the  thing  might  not  go  on 
as  long  as  you  liked." 

Mr.  VValdershare  came  down,,  exuberant  with  endless  com- 
binations  of  persons   and    parties.     He   foresaw   in   all  these 


END  YMION.  339 

changes  that  most  providential  consummation,  the  end  of  the 
middle-class. 

Mr.  Waldershare  had  become  quite  a  favorite  with  Lord 
Montfort,  who  delighted  to  talk  with  him  about  the  Duke  of 
Modena,  and  imbibe  his  original  views  of  English  history. 
*'  Only,"  Lord  Montfort  would  observe,  "  the  Montforts  have  so 
much  Church  property,  and  I  fancy  the  Duke  of  Modena  would 
want  us  to  disgorge." 

St.  Barbe  had  been  invited,  and  made  his  appearance. 
There  had  been  a  degree  of  estrangement  between  him  and  his 
patron.  St.  Barbe  was  very  jealous;  he  was  indeed  jealous  of 
everybody  and  everything,  and  of  late  there  was  a  certain  Doc- 
tor Comeley,  an  Oxford  don  of  the  new  school,  who  had  been 
introduced  to  Lord  Montfort,  and  was  initiating  him  in  all  the 
mysteries  of  Neology.  This  celebrated  divine,  who,  in  a  sweet 
silky  voice  quoted  Socrates  instead  of  St.  Paul,  and  was  opposed 
to  all  symbols  and  formulas  as  essentially  unphilosophical,  had 
become  the  hero  of  "  the  little  dinners  "  at  Montfort  House, 
where  St.  Barbe  had  been  so  long  wont  to  shine,  and  who  in 
consequence  himself  had  become  every  day  more  severely  or- 
thodox. 

"  Perhaps  we  may  meet  to-day,"  said  Endymion  one  morning 
to  St.  Barbe  in  Pall  Mall  as  they  were  separating.  "  There  is 
a  little  dinner  at  Montfort  House." 

"  Confound  your  little  dinners  !  "  exclaimed  the  indignant  St. 
Barbe  ;  "  I  hope  never  to  go  to  another  little  dinner,  and  espec- 
ially at  Montfort  House.  I  do  not  want  to  be  asked  to  dinner 
to  tumble  and  play  tricks  to  amuse  my  host.  I  want  to  be 
amused  myself.  One  cannot  be  silent  at  these  little  dinners, 
and  the  consequence  is,  you  say  all  the  good  things  which  are 
in  your  next  number,  and  when  it  comes  out,  people  say  they 
have  heard  them  before.  No.  sir,  if  Lord  Montfort,  or  any 
I  other  lord,  wishes  me  to  dine  with  him,  let  him  ask  me  to  a  ban- 
quet of  his  own  order,  and  where  I  may  hold  my  tongue  like  the 
rest  of  his  aristocratic  guests." 

Mr.  Trenchard  had  come  down  and  brought  the  news  that 
the  ministry  had  resigned,  and  that  the  queen  had  sent  for  the 
leader  of  the  Opposition,  who  was  in  Scotland. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  go  to  town,"  said  Lady  Roe- 
hampton  to  her  brother,  in  a  room  busy  and  full.  "  It  is  so  dif- 
ficult to  be  alone  here,"  she  continued  in  a  whisper;  "let  us  get 
into  the  gardens."  And  they  escaped.  And  then,  when  they 
were  out  of  hearing  and  of  sight  of  any  one,  she  said,  "  This 


340  ENDYMION. 

is  a  most  critical  time  in  your  life,  Endymion  ;  it  makes  me  very 
anxious.  I  look  upon  it  as  certain  that  you  will  be  in  office, 
and  in  all  probability  under  my  lord.  He  has  said  nothing  to 
me  about  it,  but  I  feel  quite  assured  it  will  happen.  It  will  be 
a  great  event.  Poor  papa  began  by  being  an  under-secretary 
of  state !  "  she  continued  in  a  moody  tone,  half  speaking  to  her- 
self, "  and  all  seemed  so  fair  then,  but  he  had  no  root.  What  I 
want,  Endymion,  is  that  you  should  have  a  root.  There  is  too 
much  chance  and  favor  in  your  lot.  They  will  fail  you  some 
day,  some  day,  too,  when  I  may  not  be  by  you.  Even  this  great 
opening,  which  is  at  hand,  would  never  have  been  at  your  com- 
mand but  for  a  mysterious  gift  on  which  you  never  could  have 
counted." 

"  It  is  very  true,  Myra,  but  what  then  1  " 

"Why,  then,  I  think  we  should  guard  against  such  contingen- 
cies. You  know  what  is  in  my  mind ;  we  have  spoken  of  it 
before,  and  not  once  only.  I  want  you  to  marry,  and  you  know 
whom." 

"  Marriage  is  a  serious  affair,"  said  Endymion,  with  a  dis- 
tressed look. 

"  The  most  serious.  It  is  the  principal  event,  for  good  or  for 
evil,  in  all  lives.  Had  I  not  married,  and  married  as  I  did,  we 
should  not  have  been  here  —  and  where,  I  dare  not  think." 

*'  Yes ;  but  you  made  a  happy  marriage  ;  one  of  the  happiest 
that  were  ever  known,  I  think." 

"  And  I  wish  you,  Endymion,  to  make  the  same.  I  did  not 
marry  for  love,  though  love  came,  and  I  brought  happiness  to 
one  who  made  me  happy.  But  had  it  been  otherwise,  if  there 
had  been  no  sympathy,  or  prospect  of  sympathy,  I  still  should 
have  married,  for  it  was  the  only  chance  of  saving  you." 

"Dearest  sister!    Everything  I  have,  I  owe  to  you." 

"  It  is  not  much,"  said  Myra,  "  but  I  wish  to  make  it  much. 
Power  in  every  form,  and  in  excess,  is  at  your  disposal  if  you  be 
wise.  There  is  a  woman,  I  think  with  every  charm,  who  loves 
you ;  her  fortune  may  have  no  limit;  she  is  a  member  of  one  of 
the  most  powerful  families  in  England  —  a  noble  family  I  may 
say,  for  my  lord  told  me  last  night  that  Mr.  Neuchatel  would 
be  instantly  raised  to  the  peerage,  and  you  hesitate !  By  all  the 
misery  of  the  past  —  which  never  can  be  forgotten — for 
Heaven's  sake,  be  wise  ;  do  not  palter  with  such  a  chance ! " 

"  If  all  be  as  you  say,  Myra,  and  I  have  no  reason  but  your 
word  to  believe  it  is  so  —  if,  for  example,  of  which  I  never  saw 
any  evidence,  Mr.  Neuchatel  would  approve,  or  even  tolerate. 


ENDYMION, 


341 


this  alliance  —  I  have  too  deep  and  sincere  a  regard  for  his 
daughter,  founded  on  much  kindness  to  both  of  us,  to  mock  her 
with  the  offer  of  a  heart  which  she  has  not  gained." 

"  You  say  you  have  a  deep  and  sincere  regard  for  Adriana," 
said  his  sister.  "  Why,  what  better  basis  for  enduring  happiness 
can  there  be  .'*  You  are  not  a  man  to  marry  for  romantic  senti- 
ment, and  pass  your  life  in  writing  sonnets  to  your  wife,  till 
you  find  her  charms  and  your  inspiration  alike  exhausted ; 
you  are  already  wedded  to  the  state ;  you  have  been  nurtured 
in  the  thoughts  of  great  affairs  from  your  very  childhood, 
and  even  in  the  darkest  hour  of  our  horrible  adversity.  You 
are  a  man  born  for  power  and  high  condition,  whose  name  in 
time  ought  to  rank  with  those  of  the  great  statesmen  of  the 
continent,  the  true  lords  of  Europe.  Power,  and  power  alone, 
should  be  your  absorbing  object,  and  all  the  accidents  and 
incidents  of  life  should  only  be  considered  with  reference  to 
that  main  result." 

"Well  I  am  only  five-and-twenty,  after  all.  There  is  time 
yet  to  consider  this." 

"  Great  men  should  think  of  Opportunity,  and  not  of  Time. 
Time  is  the  excuse  of  feeble  and  puzzled  spirits.  They  make 
Time  the  sleeping  partner  of  their  lives  to  accomplish  what 
ought  to  be  achieved  by  their  own  will.  In  this  case,  there 
certainly  is  no  time  like  the  present.  The  opportunity  is 
unrivalled.  All  your  friends  would,  without  an  exception,  be 
delighted  if  you  now  were  wise." 

"  I  hardly  think  my  friends  have  given  it  a  thought,"  said 
Endymion,  a  little  flushed. 

"There  is  nothing  that  would  please  Lady  Montfort  more." 

He  turned  pale.     "  How  do  you  know  that }  "  he  inquired. 

"  She  told  me  so,  and  offered  to  help  me  in  bringing  about 
the  result." 

"  Very  kind  of  her !  Well,  dearest  Myra,  you  and  Lord  Roe- 
hampton  have  much  to  think  of  at  this  anxious  moment.  Let 
this  matter  drop.  We  have  discussed  it  before,  and  we  have 
discussed  it  enough.  It  is  more  than  pain  for  me  to  differ  with 
you  on  any  point,  but  I  cannot  offer  to  Adriana  a  heart  which 
belongs  to  another." 


342  END  YM ION, 


CHAPTER  LXXXIII. 

All  the  high  expectations  of  December  at  Princedown  were 
doomed  to  disappointment ;  they  were  a  further  illustration  of 
Lord  Roehampton's  saying,  that  there  was  no  gambling  like 
politics.  The  leader  of  the  opposition  came  up  to  town,  but  he 
found  nothing  but  difficulties,  and  a  few  days  before  Christmas 
he  had  resigned  the  proffered  trust.  The  protectionist  ministry 
were  to  remain  in  office,  and  to  repeal  the  corn-laws.  The 
individual  who  was  most  balked  by  this  unexpected  result  was 
perhaps  Lord  Roehampton.  He  was  a  man  who  really  cared 
for  nothing  but  office  and  affairs,  and  being  advanced  in  life,  he 
naturally  regretted  a  lost  opportunity.  But  he  never  showed 
his  annoyance.  Always  playful,  and  even  taking  retuge  in  a 
bantering  spirit,  the  world  seemed  to  go  light  with  him  when 
everything  was  dark  and  everybody  despondent. 

The  discontent  or  indignation  which  the  contemplated  revo- 
lution in  policy  was  calculated  to  excite  in  the  Conservative 
party  generally  was  to  a  certain  degree  neutralized  for  the 
moment  by  mysterious  and  confidential  communications,  circu- 
lated by  Mr.  Tadpole  and  the  managers  of  the  party,  that  the 
change  was  to  be  accompanied  by  "  immense  compensations." 
As  Parliament  was  to  meet  as  soon  as  convenient  after  Christ- 
mas, and  the  statement  of  the  regenerated  ministry  was  then  to 
be  made  immediately,  every  one  held  his  hand,  as  they  all  felt 
the  blow  must  be  more  efficient  when  the  scheme  of  the  gov- 
ernment was  known. 

The  Montforts  were  obliged  to  go  to  their  castle,  a  visit  the 
sad  necessity  of  which  the  formation  of  a  new  government,  at 
one  time,  they  had  hoped,  might  have  prevented.  The  Roe- 
hamptons  passed  their  Christmas  with  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  at 
Gaydene,  where  Endymion,  also,  and  many  of  the  Opposition 
were  guests.  Waldershare  took  refuge  with  his  friends  the 
Beaumarises,  full  of  revenge  and  unceasing  combinations.  He 
took  down  St.  Barbe  with  him,  whose  services  in  the  session 
might  be  useful.  There  had  been  a  little  misunderstanding 
between  these  two  eminent  personages  during  the  late  season. 
St  Barbe  was  not  satisfied  with  his  position  in  the  new  journal 
which  Waldershare  had  established.  He  affected  to  have  been 
ill-treated  and  deceived,  and  this  with  a  mysterious  shake  of 
the  head  which  seemed  to  intimate  State  secrets  that  might 
hereafter  be  revealed.     The  fact  is,  St.  Barbe's  political  articles 


ENDYMION,  343 

were  so  absurd  that  it  was  impossible  to  print  them ;  but  as  his 
name  stood  high  as  a  clever  writer  on  matters  with  which  he 
was  acquainted,  they  permitted  him,  particularly  as  they  were 
bound  to  pay  him  a  high  salary,  to  contribute  essays  on  the 
social  habits  and  opinions  of  the  day,  which  he  treated  in  a 
happy  and  taking  manner.  St.  Barbe  himself  had  such  a  quick 
perception  of  peculiarities,  so  fine  a  power  of  observation,  and 
so  keen  a  sense  of  the  absurd,  that  when  he  revealed  in  confi- 
dence the  causes  of  his  discontent,  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
believe  that  he  was  entirely  serious.  It  seems  that  he  expected 
this  connection  with  the  journal  in  question  to  have  been,  to 
use  his  own  phrase,  "  a  closet  affair,"  and  that  he  was  habitually 
to  have  been  introduced  by  the  back  stairs  of  the  palace  to  the 
presence  of  royalty  to  receive  encouragement  and  inspiration. 
"  I  do  not  complain  of  the  pay,"  he  added,  **  though  I  could 
get  more  by  writing  for  Shuffle  and  Screw,  but  I  expected  a 
decoration.  However,  I  shall  probably  stand  for  next  Parlia- 
ment on  the  principles  of  the  Mountain;  so  perhaps  it  is  just 
as  well." 

Parliament  soon  met,  and  that  session  began  which  will  long 
be  memorable.  The  "  immense  compensations  "  were  nowhere. 
Waldershare,  who  had  only  waited  for  this,  resigned  his  office 
as  Under-Secretary  of  State.  This  was  a  bad  example  and  a 
blow,  but  nothing  compared  to  the  resignation  of  his  great 
office  in  the  Household  by  the  Earl  of  Beaumaris.  This 
involved,  unhappily,  the  withdrawal  of  Lady  Beaumaris,  under 
whose  bright,  inspiring  roof  the  Tory  party  had  long  assembled 
sanguine  and  bold.  Other  considerable  peers  followed  the 
precedent  of  Lord  Beaumaris,  and  withdrew  their  support  from 
the  ministry.  Waldershare  moved  the  amendment  to  the  first 
reading  of  the  obnoxious  bill ;  but  although  defeated  by  a  con- 
siderable majority,  the  majority  was  mainly  formed  of  members 
of  the  Opposition.  Among  these  was  Mr.  Ferrars,  who,  it  was 
observed,  had  never  opened  his  lips  during  the  whole  session. 

This  was  not  the  case  v/ith  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  and  the 
school  of  Pythagoris.  The  opportunity  long  waited  for  had  at 
length  arrived.  There  was  a  great  Parliamentary  connection 
deserted  by  its  leaders.  This  distinguished  rank  and  file  re- 
quired officers.  The  cabinet  of  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  was  ready, 
and  at  their  service.  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  seconded  the  amend- 
ment of  Waldershare,  and  took  the  occasion  of  expounding  the 
new  philosophy,  which  seemed  to  combine  the  principles  of 
Bentham  with  the  practice  of  Lord  Liverpool.     "  I  offered  to 


344  ENDYMION, 

you  .this,"  he  said,  reproachfully,  to  Endymion;  "you  might 
have  been  my  secretary  of  state.  Mr.  Tremaine  Bertie  will 
now  take  it.  He  would  rather  have  an  embassy,  but  he  must 
make  the  sacrifice." 

The  debates  during  the  session  were  much  carried  on  by  the 
Pythagoreans,  who  never  ceased  chattering.  They  had  men 
ready  for  every  branch  of  the  subject,  and  the  debate  was  often 
closed  by  their  chief  in  mystical  sentences,  which  they  cheered 
like  awe-struck  zealots. 

The  great  bill  was  carried,  but  the  dark  hour  of  retribution 
at  length  arrived.  The  ministry,  though  sanguine  to  the  last  of 
success,  and  not  without  cause,  were  completely  and  ignomin- 
iously  defeated.  The  new  government,  long  prepared,  was  at 
once  formed.  Lord  Roehampton  again  became  Secretary  of 
State,  and  he  appointed  Endymion  to  the  post  under  him.  "  I 
shall  not  press  you  unfairly,"'  said  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  to 
Endymion,  with  encouraging  condescension.  "  I  wish  my  men 
for  a  season  to  comprehend  what  is  a  responsible  Opposition. 
I  am  sorry  Hortensius  is  your  solicitor-general,  for  I  had  intended 
him  always  for  my  chancellor." 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

Very  shortly  after  the  prorogation  of  Parliament,  an  incident 
occurred  which  materially  affected  the  position  of  Endymion. 
Lord  Roehampton  had  a  serious  illness.  Having  a  fine*  consti- 
tution, he  apparently  completely  rallied  from  the  attack,  and 
little  was  known  of  it  by  the  public.  The  world  also,  at  that 
moment,  were,  as  usual,  much  dispersed  and  distracted ;  dis- 
persed in  many  climes,  and  distracted  by  the  fatigue  and  hard- 
ships they  annually  endure,  and  which  they  call  relaxation. 
Even  the  colleagues  of  the  great  statesman  were  scattered,  and 
before  they  had  realized  that  he  had  been  seriously  ill,  they 
read  of  him  in  the  fulfilment  of  the  official  duties.  But  there 
was  no  mistake  as  to  his  state  under  his  own  roof.  Lord  Roe- 
hampton had,  throughout  the  later  period  of  his  life,  been  in 
the  habit  of  working  at  night.  It  was  only  at  night  that  he 
could  command  that  abstraction  necessary  for  the  consideration 
of  great  affairs.  He  was  also  a  real  worker.  He  wrote  his 
own  despatches  whenever  they  referred  to  matters  of  moment. 
He  left  to  the  permanent  staff  of  his  office  little  but  the  fulfil- 
ment of   duties  which,  though  heavy  and  multifarious,  were 


END  YMION, 


345 


duties  of  routine.  The  composition  of  these  despatches  was  a 
source,  to  Lord  Roehampton,  of  much  gratification  and  excite- 
ment. They  were  of  European  fame,  and  their  terse  argument, 
their  clear  determination,  and  often  their  happy  irony  were 
acknowledged  in  all  the  cabinets,  and  duly  apprehended. 

The  physicians  impressed  upon  Lady  Roehampton  that  this 
night-work  must  absolutely  cease.  A  neglect  of  their  advice 
must  lead  to  serious  consequences ;  following  it,  there  was  no 
reason  why  her  husband  should  not  live  for  years,  and  con- 
tinue to  serve  the  State.  Lord  Roehampton  must  leave  the 
House  of  Commons;  he  must  altogether  change  the  order  of 
his  life;  he  must  seek  more  amusement  in  society,  and  yet  keep 
early  hours;  and  then  he  would  find  himself  fresh  and  vigorous 
in  the  morning,  and  his  work  would  rather  benefit  than  distress 
him.     It  was  all  an  affair  of  habit. 

Lady  Roehampton  threw  all  her  energies  into  this  matter. 
She  entertained  for  her  lord  a  reverential  affection,  and  his  life 
to'her  seemed  a  precious  deposit,  of  which  she  was  the  trustee. 
She  succeeded  where  the  physicians  would  probably  have  failed. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  year,  Lord  Roehampton  was  called  up 
to  the  House  of  Lords  for  one  of  his  baronies,  and  Endymion 
was  informed  that  when  Parliament  met  he  would  have  to  rep- 
resent the  Foreign  Office  in  the  House  of  Commons. 

Waldershare  heartily  congratulated  him.  "You  have  got 
what  I  most  wished  to  have  in  the  world ;  but  I  will  not  envy 
you,  for  envy  is  a  vile  passion.  You  have  the  good-fortune  to 
serve  a  genial  chief.  I  had  to  deal  with  a  Harley  —  cold,  sus- 
picious, ambiguous,  pretending  to  be  profound,  and  always  in  a 
state  of  perplexity." 

It  was  not  a  very  agreeable  session.  The  potato  famine  did 
something  more  than  repeal  the  corn-laws.  It  proved  that 
there  was  no  floating  capital  left  in  the  country ;  and  when  the 
Barings  and  Rothschilds  combined,  almost  as  much  from  public 
spirit  as  from  private  speculation,  to  raise  a  loan  of  a  few  mill- 
ions for  the  minister,  they  absolutely  found  the  public  purse 
was  exhausted,  and  had  to  supply  the  greater  portion  of  the 
amount  from  their  own  resources.  In  one  of  the  many  finan- 
cial debates  that  consequently  occurred,  Trenchard  established 
himself  by  a  clear  and  comprehensive  view  of  the  position  of 
affairs,  and  by  modestly  reminding  the  House  that  a  year  ago 
he  had  predicted  the  present  condition  of  things,  and  indicated 
its  inevitable  cause. 


346  END  YMION. 

This  was  the  great  speech  on  a  great  night,  and  Mr.  Bertie 
Tremaine  walked  home  with  Trenchard.  It  was  observed  that 
Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  always  walked  home  with  the  member  who 
had  made  the  speech  of  the  evening. 

"  Your  friends  did  not  behave  well  to  you,"  he  said,  in  a 
hollow  voice,  to  Trenchard.  "They  ought  to  have  made  you 
Secretary  of  the  Treasury.  Think  of  this.  It  is  an  important 
post,  and  may  lead  to  anything ;  and,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
it  would  give  me  real  pleasure  to  see  it." 

But,  besides  the  disquietude  of  domestic  affairs,  famine  and 
failures  competing  in  horrible  catastrophe,  and  the  Bank  Act 
suspended,  as  the  year  advanced  matters  on  the  Continent 
became  not  less  dark  and  troubled.  Italy  was  mysteriously 
agitated ;  the  Pope  announced  himself  a  reformer ;  there  were 
disturbances  in  Milan,  Ancona,  and  Ferrara;  the  Austrians 
threatened  the  occupation  of  several  states,  and  Sardinia  offered 
to  defend  his  Holiness  from  the  Austrians.  In  addition  to  all 
this,  there  were  reform  banquets  in  France,  a  civil  war  in 
Switzerland,  and  the  King  of  Prussia  thought  it  prudent  to 
present  his  subjects  with  a  constitution. 

The  Count  of  Ferroll  about  this  time  made  a  visit  to  Eng- 
land. He  was  always  a  welcome  guest  there,  and  had  received 
the  greatest  distinction  which  England  could  bestow  upon  a 
foreigner ;  he  had  been  elected  an  honorary  member  of  White's. 
*'You  may  have  troubles  here,"  he  said  to  Lady  Montfort; 
"  but  they  will  pass ;  you  will  have  mealy  potatoes  again  and 
plenty  of  bank-notes,  but  we  shall  not  get  off  so  cheaply. 
Everything  is  quite  rotten  throughout  the  Continent.  This 
year  is  tranquillity  to  what  the  next  will  be.  There  is  not  a 
throne  in  Europe  worth  a  year's  purchase.  My  worthy  master 
wants  me  to  return  home  and  be  minister :  I  am  to  fashion  for 
him  a  new  constitution.  I  will  never  have  anything  to  do  with 
new  constitutions ;  their  inventors  are  always  the  first  victims. 
Instead  of  making  a  constitution,  he  should  make  a  country, 
and  convert  his  heterogeneous  domains  into  a  patriotic  domin- 
ion * 

"  But  how  is  that  to  be  done  }  " 

"  There  is  only  one  way ;  by  blood  and  iron." 

*'  My  dear  count,  you  shock  me !  " 

*'  I  shall  have  to  shock  you  a  great  deal  more  before  the 
inevitable  is  brought  about." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  that  there  is  something,"  said  Lady  Montfort, 


END  YMION,  347 

"which  is  inevitable.  I  hope  it  will  come  soon.  I  am  sure  this 
country  is  ruined.  What  with  cheap  bread  at  famine  prices, 
and  these  railroads,  we  seem  quite  finished.  I  thought  one 
operation  was  to  counteract  the  other ;  but  they  appear  both  to 
turn  out  equally  fatal." 

Endymion  had  now  one  of  those  rare  opportunities  which,  if 
men  be  equal  to  them,  greatly  affect  their  future  career.  As 
the  session  advanced,  debates  on  foreign  affairs  became  frequent 
and  deeply  interesting.  So  far  as  the  ministry  was  concerned, 
the  burden  of  these  fell  on  the  Under-secretary  of  State.  He 
was  never  wanting.  The  House  felt  that  he  had  not  only  the 
adequate  knowledge,  but  that  it  was  knowledge  perfectly  di- 
gested ;  that  his  remarks  and  conduct  were  those  of  a  man  who 
had  given  constant  thought  to  his  duties,  and  was  master  of  his 
subject.  His  oratorical  gifts  also  began  to  be  recognized.  The 
power  and  melody  of  his  voice  had  been  before  remarked,  and 
that  is  a  gift  which  much  contributes  to  success  in  a  popular 
assembly.  He  was  ready  without  being  too  fluent.  There 
were  light  and  shade  in  his  delivery.  He  repressed  his  power 
of  sarcasm;  but  if  unjustly  and  inaccurately  attacked,  he  could 
be  keen.  Over  his  temper  he  had  a  complete  control ;  if,  indeed, 
his  entire  insensibility  to  violent  language  on  the  part  of  an 
opponent  was  not  organic.  All  acknowledged  his  courtesy,  and 
both  sides  sympathized  with  a  young  man  who  proved  himself 
equal  to  no  ordinary  difficulties.  In  a  word,  Endymion  was 
popular,  and  that  popularity  was  not  diminished  by  the  fact  of 
his  being  the  brother  of  Lady  Roehampton,  who  exercised 
great  influence  in  society,  and  who  was  much  beloved. 

As  the  year  advanced  external  affairs  became  daily  more 
serious,  and  the  country  congratulated  itself  that  its  interests 
were  intrusted  to  a  minister  of  the  experience  and  capacity  of 
Lord  Roehampton.  That  statesman  seemed  never  better  than 
when  the  gale  ran  high.  Affairs  in  France  began  to  assume 
the  complexion  that  the  Count  of  FerroU  had  prophetically 
announced.  If  a  crash  occurred  in  that  quarter.  Lord  Roe- 
hampton felt  that  all  Europe  might  be  in  a  blaze.  Affairs  were 
never  more  serious  than  at  the  turn  of  the  year.  Lord  Roe- 
hampton told  his  wife  that  their  holidays  must  be  spent  in  St. 
James's  Square,  for  he  could  not  leave  London ;  but  he  wished 
her  to  go  to  Gaydene,  where  they  had  been  invited  by  Mr. 
Sidney  Wilton  to  pass  their  Christmas  as  usual.  Nothing,  how- 
ever, would  induce  her  to  quit  his  side.     He  seemed  quite  well. 


348  -  ENDYMION. 

but  the  pressure  of  affairs  was  extreme ;  and  sometimes  against 
all  her  remonstrances,  he  was  again  working  at  night.  Such 
remonstrances  on  other  subjects  would  probably  have  been 
successful,  for  her  influence  over  him  was  extreme.  But  to  a 
minister  responsible  for  the  interests  of  a  great  country  they  are 
vain,  futile,  impossible.  One  might  as  well  remonstrate  with  an 
officer  on  the  field  of  battle  on  the  danger  he  was  incurring. 
She  said  to  him  one  night  in  his  library,  where  she  paid  him  a 
little  visit  before  she  retired,  "  My  heart,  I  know  it  is  no  use 
my  saying  anything,  and  yet — remember  your  promise.  This 
night-work  makes  me  very  unhappy." 

"  I  remember  my  promise,  and  I  will  try  not  to  work  at  night 
in  a  hurry,  but  I  must  finish  his  despatch.  If  I  did  not,  I 
could  not  sleep,  and  you  know  sleep  is  what  I  require." 

"Goodnight,  then." 

He  looked  up  with  his  winning  smile,  and  held  out  his  lips. 
"  Kiss  me,"  he  said ;  "  I  never  felt  better." 

Lady  Roehampton  after  a  time  slumbered;  how  long  she 
knew  not,  but  when  she  woke  her  lord  was  not  at  her  side.  She 
struck  a  light  and  looked  at  her  watch.  It  was  past  three 
o'clock;  she  jumped  out  of  bed,  and,  merely  in  her  slippers 
and  her  robe  de  chambre,  descended  to  the  library.  It  was  a 
large,  long  room,  and  Lord  Roehampton  worked  at  the  extreme 
end  of  it.  The  candles  were  nearly  burned  out.  As  she 
approached  him,  she  perceived  that  he  was  leaning  back  in  his 
chair.  When  she  reached  him,  she  observed  he  was  awake, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  recognize  her.  A  dreadful  feeling  came 
over  her.  She  took  his  hand.  It  was  quite  cold.  Her  intellect 
for  an  instant  seemed  to  desert  her.  She  looked  round  her 
with  an  air  void  almost  of  intelligence,  and  then  rushing  to  the 
bell,  she  continued  ringing  it  till  some  of  the  household  appeared. 
A  medical  man  was  near  at  hand,  and  in  a  few  minutes  arrived, 
but  it  was  a  bootless  visit.  All  was  over,  and  all  had  been 
over,  he  said,  "  for  some  time," 


ENDYMION.  349 


CHAPTER   LXXXV. 

^*Well,  have  you  made  up  your  government?  "  asked  Lady 
Montfort  of  the  prime-minister  as  he  entered  her  boudoir.  He 
shook  his  head. 

*'  Have  you  seen  her  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  No,  not  yet.  I  suppose  she  will  see  me  as  soon  as  any 
one." 

"  I  am  told  she  is  utterly  overwhelmed." 

"  She  was  devoted  to  him.  It  was  the  happiest  union  I  ever 
knew ;  but  Lady  Roehampton  is  not  the  woman  to  be  utterly 
overwhelmed.     She  has  too  imperial  a  spirit  for  that." 

"  It  is  a  great  misfortune,"  said  the  prime-minister.  "  We 
have  not  been  lucky  since  we  took  the  reins." 

"  Well,  there  is  no  use  in  deploring.  There  is  nobody  else  to 
take  the  reins,  so  you  may  defy  misfortunes.  The  question 
now  is,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Well,  there  seems  to  me  only  one  thing  to  do.  We  must  put 
Rawchester  there." 

"  Rawchester !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Montfort ;  "  what !  '  Niminy- 
Piminy .?  '  "    ^ 

"  Well,  he  is  conciliatory,"  said  the  premier  ;  "  and  if  you  are 
not  very  clever,  you  should  be  conciliatory." 

"  He  never  knows  his  own  mind  for  a  week  together." 

*'  We  will  take  care  of  his  mind,"  said  the  prime-minister ; 
*'  but  he  has  traveled  a  good  deal,  and  knows  the  public  men." 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  "and  the  public  men,  I  fear, 
know  him." 

"  Then  he  can  make  a  good  House  of  Lords  speech,  and  we 
have  a  first-rate  man  in  the  Commons ;  so  it  will  do." 

"  I  do  not  think  your  first-rate  man  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons will  remain,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  dryly. 

"You  do  not  mean  that,"  said  the  prime-minister,  evidently 
alarmed. 

"  His  health  is  delicate,"  said  Lady  Montfort ;  "  had  it  not 
been  for  his  devotion  to  Lord  Roehampton,  I  know  he  thought 
of  traveling  for  a  couple  of  years." 

"  Ferrar's  health  delicate  ?  "  said  the  premier.  "  I  thought  he 
was  the  picture  of  health  and  youthful  vigor.     Health  is  one  of 


350  ENDYMION. 

the  elements  to  be  considered  in  calculating  the  career  of  a 
public  man,  -and  I  have  always  predicted  an  eminent  career  for 
Ferrars,  because,  in  addition  to  his  remarkable  talents,  he  had 
apparently  such  a  fine  constitution."  - 

"  No  health  could  stand  working  under  Lord  Rawchester." 

"  Well,  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  cannot  make  Mr.  Ferrars 
secretary  of  state." 

"  Why  not  1 " 

The  prime-minister  looked  considerably  perplexed.  Such  a 
promotion  could  not  possibly  have  occurred  to  him.  Though 
a  man  of  many  gifts,  and  a  statesman,  he  had  been  educated  in 
high  Whig  routine,  and  the  proposition  of  Lady  Montfort  was 
like  recommending  him  to  make  a  curate  a  bishop. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  Ferrars  is  a  very  clever  fellow.  He  is  our 
rising  young  man,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that,  if  his  health  is 
not  so  delicate  as  you  fear,  he  will  mount  high  ;  but,  though  our 
rising  young  man,  he  is  a  young  man,  much  too  young  to  be 
a  secretary  of  state.  He  wants  age,  larger  acquaintance  with 
affairs,  greater  position,  and  more  root  in  the  country." 

"  What  was  Mr.  Canning's  age,  who  held  Mr.  Ferrar's  office, 
when  he  was  made  secretary  of  state  1  and  what  root  in  the 
country  had  he.^ " 

When  the  prime  minister  got  back  to  Downing  street  he 
sent  immediately  for  his  head  Whip.  "  Look  after  Ferrars,"  he 
said ;  "  they  are  trying  to  induce  him  to  resign  office.  If  he 
does,  our  embarrassments  will  be  extreme.  Lord  Rawchester 
will  be  secretary  of  state  ;  send  a  paragraph  to  the  papers  at 
once  announcing  it.  But  look  after  Ferrars,  and  immediately, 
and  report  to  me." 

Lord  Roehampton  had  a  large  entailed  estate^  though  his 
affairs  were  always  in  a  state  of  confusion.  That  seems  almost 
the  inevitable  result  of  being  absorbed  in  the  great  business  of 
governing  mankind.  If  there  be  exceptions  among  statesmen 
of  the  highest  class,  they  will  generally  be  found  among  those 
who  have  been  chiefly  in  opposition,  and  so  have  had  leisure 
and  freedom  of  mind  sufficient  to  manage  their  estates.  Lord 
Roehampton  had,  however,  extensive  powers  of  charging  his 
estate  in  lieu  of  dower,  and  he  had  employed  them  to  their 
utmost  extent ;  so  his  widow  was  well  provided  for.  The  exec- 
utors were  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  and  Endymion. 

After  a  short  period,  Lady  Roehampton  saw  Adriana,  and, 
not  very  long  after,  Lady  Montfort.     They  both  of  them,  from 


ENDYMION.  351 

that  time,  were  her  frequent,  if  not  constant,  companions;  but 
she  saw  no  one  else.  Once  only,  since  the  terrible  event,  was 
she  seen  by  the  world,  and  tliat  was  when  a  tall  figure,  shrouded 
in  the  darkest  attire,  attended  as  chief  mourner  at  the  burial  of 
her  Lord  in  Westminster  Abbey.  She  remained  permanently 
in  London,  not  only  because  she  had  no  country  house,  but 
because  she  wished  to  be  with  her  brother.  As  time  advanced 
she  frequently  saw  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  who,  being  chief  execu- 
tor of  the  will,  and  charged  with  all  her  affairs,  had  necessarily 
much  on  which  to  consult  her.  One  of  the  greatest  difficulties 
was  to  provide  her  with  a  suitable  residence ;  for,  of  course, 
she  was  not  to  remain  in  the  family  mansion  in  St.  James's 
Square.  That  difficulty  was  ultimately  overcome  in  a  manner 
highly  interesting  to  her  feelings.  Her  father's  mansion  in  Hill 
Street,  where  she  had  passed  her  prosperous  and  gorgeous  child- 
hood, was  in  the  market,  and  she  was  most  desirious  to  occupy 
it.  "  It  will  seem  like  a  great  step  towards  the  restoration," 
she  said  to  Endymion.  *'  My  plans  are,  that  you  should  give 
up  the  Albany,,  and  that  we  should  live  together.  I  should  like 
to  see  our  nursery  once  more.  The  past  then  will  be  a  dream, 
or  at  least  all  the  past  that  is  disagreeable.  My  fortune  is  yours; 
as  we  are  twins,  it  is  likely  that  I  may  live  as  long  as  you  do.  But 
I  wish  you  to  be  the  master  of  the  house,  and  in  time  receive 
your  friends  in  a  manner  becoming  your  position.  I  do  not 
think  that  I  shall  ever  much  care  to  go  out  again,  but  I  may 
help  you  at  home,  and  then  you  can  invite  women  —  a  mere 
bachelor's  house  is  always  dull." 

There  was  one  difficulty  still  in  this  arrangement.  The  man- 
sion in  Hill  Street  was  not  to  be  let,  it  was  for  sale;  and  the 
price  naturally  for  such  a  mansion  in  such  a  situation  was  con- 
siderable— quite  beyond  the  means  of  Lady  Roehampton,  who 
had  a  very  ample  income,  but  no  capital.  This  difficulty,  how- 
ever, vanished  in  a  moment.  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  purchased 
the  house ;  he  wanted  an  investment,  and  this  was  an  excellent 
one ;  so  Lady  Roehampton  became  his  tenant. 

The  change  was  great  in  the  life  of  Myra,  and  she  felt  it. 
She  loved  her  lord,  and  had  cut  off  her  beautiful  hair,  which 
reached  almost  to  her  feet,  and  had  tied  it  round  his  neck  in  his 
coffin.  But  Myra,  notwithstanding  she  was  a  woman,  and  a 
woman  of  transcendent  beauty,  had  never  had  a  romance  of 
the  heart.     Until  she  married,  her  pride,  and  her  love  for  her 


352 


END  YAH  ON. 


brother,  which  was  part  of  her  pride,  had  absorbed  her  being. 
When  she  married,  and  particularly  as  time  advanced,  she  felt 
all  the  misery  of  her  existence  had  been  removed,  and  nothing 
could  exceed  the  tenderness  and  affectionate  gratitude  and 
truly  unceasing  devotion  which  she  extended  to  the  gifted 
being  to  whom  she  owed  this  deliverance.  But  it  was  not  in 
the  nature  of  things  that  she  could  experience  those  feelings 
which  still  echo  in  the  heights  of  Meilleraie,  and  compared  with 
which  all  the  glittering  accidents  of  fortune  sink  into  insignifi- 
cance. 

The  year  rolled  on,  an  agitated  year  of  general  revolution. 
Endymion  himself  was  rarely  in  society,  for  all  the  time  which 
the  House  of  Commons  spared  to  him  he  wished  chiefly  to 
dedicate  to  his  sister.  His  brougham  was  always  ready  to  take 
him  up  to  Hill  Street  for  one  of  those  somewhat  hurried  but 
amusing  little  dinners  which  break  the  monotony  of  parlia- 
mentary life.  And  sometimes  he  brought  a  companion,  gener- 
ally Mr.  Wilton,  and  sometimes  they  met  Lady  Montfort  or 
Adriana,  now  ennobled  as  the  daughter  of  Lord  Hainault. 
There  was  much  to  talk  about^  even  if  they  did  not  talk  about 
themselves  or  their  friends,  for  every  day  brought  great  events, 
fresh  insurrections^  new  constitutions,  changes  of  dynasties, 
assassinations  of  ministers,  states  of  siege,  evanescent  empires, 
and  premature  republics. 

On  one  occasion,  having  previously  prepared  his  sister,  who 
seemed  not  uninterested  by  the  suggestion,  Endymion  brought 
Thornberry  to  dine  in  Hill  Street.  There  was  no  one  else  pres- 
ent except  Adriana.  Job  was  a  great  admirer  of  Lady  Roe- 
hampton,  but  was  a  little  awe-struck  by  her.  He  remembered 
her  in  her  childhood,  a  beautiful  being  who  never  smiled.  She 
received  him  very  graciously,  and  after  dinner,  inviting  him 
to  sit  by  her  on  the  sofa,  referred  with  delicacy  to  old  times. 

"  Your  ladyship,"  said  Thornberry,  "  would  not  know  that  I 
live  myself  now  at  Hurstley." 

"Indeed!  "  said  Myra,  unaffectedly  surprised. 

"  Well,  it  happened  in  this  way :  my  father  now  is  in  years, 
and  can  no  longer  visit  us  as  he  occasionally  did  in  Lancashire ; 
so  wishing  to  see  us  all,  at  least  once  more,  we  agreed  to  pay  him 
a  visit.  I  do  wot  know  how  it  exactly  came  about,  but  ray  wife 
took  a  violent  fancy  to  the  place.  They  all  received  us  very 
kindly.     The  good  rector  and  his  dear  kind  wife  made  it  very 


END  YM ION.  353 

pleasant,  and  the  archbishop  was  there — whom  we  used  to  call 
Mj.  Nigel — only  think  !  That  is  a  wonderful  affair.  He  is  not 
at  all  high  and  mighty,  but  talked  with  us  and  walked  with  us 
just  the  same  as  in  old  days.  He  took  a  great  fancy  to  my  boy, 
John  Hampden,  and,  after  all,  my  boy  is  to  go  to  Oxford,  and 
not  to  Owens  College,  as  I  had  first  intended." 

"  That  is  a  great  change." 

"  Well,  I  wanted  him  to  go  to  Owens  College,  I  confess,  but 
I  did  not  care  so  much  about  Mill  Hill.  That  was  his  mother's 
fancy;  she  was  very  strong  about  that.  It  is  a  Non-conformist 
school,  but  I  am  not  a  Non-conformist.  I  do  not  much  admire 
dogmas,  but  I  am  a  Churchman,  as  my  fathers  were.  However, 
John  Hampden  is  not  to  go  to  Mill  Hill.  He  has  gone  to  a 
sort  of  college  near  Oxford,  which  the  archbishop  recommended 
to  us ;  the  principal  and  all  the  tutors  are  clergymen — of  course 
of  our  church.     My  wife  is  quite  delighted  with  it  all." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  good  thing." 

"  And  so,"  continued  Thornberry,  "  she  got  it  into  her  head 
she  should  like  to  live  at  Hurstley,  and  I  took  the  place.  I  am 
afraid  I  have  been  foolish  enough  to  lay  out  a  great  deal  of 
money  there  —  for  a  place  not  my  own.  Your  ladyship  would 
not  know  the  old  hall.  I  have,  what  they  call,  restored  it;  and, 
upon  my  word,  except  the  new  hall  of  the  Cloth-workers'  Com- 
pany, where  I  dined  the  other  day,  I  do  not  know  anything  of 
the  kind  that  is  prettier." 

"  The  dear  old  hall !  "  murmured  Lady  Roehampton. 

In  time,  though  no  one  mentioned  it,  everybody  thought  that 
if  an  alliance  ultimately  took  place  between  Lady  Roehampton 
and  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  it  would  be  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world,  and  everybody  would  approve  it.  True,  he  was  her 
father's  friend,  and  much  her  senior,  but  then  he  was  still  good- 
looking,  very  clever,  very  much  co;isidered,  and  lord  of  a  large 
estate ;  and,  at  any  rate,  he  was  a  younger  man  than  her  late 
husband. 

When  these  thoughts  became  more  rife  in  society,  and  began 
to  take  the  form  of  speech,  the  year  was  getting  old,  and  this 
reminds  us  of  a  little  incident  which  took  place  many  months 
previously,  at  the  beginning  of  the  year,  and  which  we  ought  to 
record. 

Shortly  after  the  death  of  Lord  Roehampton,  Prince  Flores- 
tan  called  one  morning  in  St.  James's  Square.     He  said  he 


354  END  YM ION, 

would  not  ask  Lady  Roehampton  to  see  him,  but  he  was  obliged 
suddenly  to  leave  England,  and  he  did  not  like  to  depart  with- 
out personally  inquiring  after  her.  He  left  a  letter  and  a  little 
packet.     And  the  letter  ran  thus  : 

"  I  am  obliged,  madam,  to  leave  England  suddenly,  and  it  is 
probable  that  we  shall  never  meet  again.  I  should  be  happy  if 
I  had  your  prayers  !  This  little  jewel  enclosed  belonged  to  my 
mother,  the  Queen  Agrippina.  She  told  me  that  I  was  never  to 
part  with  it,  except  to  somebody  I  loved  as  much  as  herself. 
There  is  only  one  person  in  the  world  to  whom  I  owe  affection. 
It  is  to  her  who  from  the  first  was  always  kind  to  me,  and  who, 
through  dreary  years  of  danger  and  anxiety,  has  been  the  charm 
and  consolation  of  the  life  of 

"  Florestan." 


ENDTMION,  355 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  Prince  Florestan  per- 
sonally left  the  letter  with  Lady  Roehampton,  he  quitted  Lon- 
don with  the  Duke  of  St.  Angelo  and  his  aides-de-camp,  and, 
embarking  in  his  steam-yacht,  which  was  lying  at  Southamp- 
ton, quitted  England.  They  pursued  a  prosperous  course  for 
about  a  week,  when  they  passed  through  the  Strait  of  Gibraltar, 
and,  not  long'  afterwards,  cast  anchor  in  a  small  and  solitary 
bay.  There  the  prince  and  his  companions,  and  half  a  dozen 
servants,  well  armed  and  in  military  attire,  left  the  yacht,  and 
proceeded  on  foot  into  the  country  for  a  short  distance,  when 
they  arrived  at  a  large  farm-house.  Here,  it  was  evident,  they 
were  expected.  Men  came  forward  with  many  horses,  and 
mounted,  and  accompanied  the  party  which  had  arrived.  They 
advanced  about  ten  miles,  and  halted  as  they  were  approaching 
a  small  but  fortified  town. 

The  prince  sent  the  Duke  of  St.  Angelo  forward  to  announce 
his  arrival  to  the  governor,  and  to  require  him  to  surrender. 
The  governor,  however,  refused,  and  ordered  the  garrison  to 
fire  on  the  invaders.  This  they  declined  to  do ;  the  governor, 
with  many  ejaculations,  and  stamping  with  rage,  broke  his 
sword,  and  the  prince  entered  the  town.  He  was  warmly  re- 
ceived, and  the  troops,  about  twelve  hundred  men,  placed  them- 
selves at  his  disposal.  The  prince  remained  at  this  town  only 
a  couple  of  hours,  and  at  the  head  of  hi  j forces  advanced  into 
the  country.  At  a  range  of  hills  he  halted,  sent  out  recon- 
noitring parties,  and  pitched  his  camp.  In  the  morning,  the 
Marquis  of  Vallambrosa,  with  a  large  party  of  gentlemen  well 
mounted,  arrived,  and  were  warmly  greeted.  The  prince 
learned  from  them  that  the  news  of  his  invasion  had  reached 
the  governor  of  the  province,  who  was  at  one  of  the  most  con- 
siderable cities  of  the  kingdom,  with  a  population  exceeding 
two  hundred  thousand,  and  with  a  military  division  for  its  gar- 
rison. "  They  will  not  wait  for  our  arrival,"  said  Vallom- 
brosa,  "  but,  trusting  to  their  numbers,  will  come  out  and  attack 
us." 

The  news  of  the  scouts  being  that  the  mountain  passes  were 
quite  unoccupied  by  the  enemy,  the  prince  determined  instantly 
to  continue  his  advance,  and  take  up  a  strong  position  on  the 
other  side  of  the  range,  and  await  his  fate.  The  passage  was 
well  effected,  and  on  the  fourth  day  of  the   invasion  the  ad- 


35^  ENDTMJON, 

vanced  guard  of  the  enemy  were  in  sight.  The  prince  com- 
manded that  no  one  should  attend  him,  but  alone  and  tying  a 
white  handkerchief  round  his  sword,  he  galloped  up  to  the 
hostile  lines,  and  said,  in  a  clear,  loud  voice,  "  My  men,  this  is 
the  sword  of  my  father ! " 

"  Florestan  forever!"  was  the  only  and  universal  reply.  The 
cheers  of  the  advanced  guard  reached  and  were  re-echoed  by 
the  main  body.  The  commander-in-chief,  bare-headed,  came 
up  to  give  in  his  allegiance,  and  receive  his  Majesty's  orders. 
They  were  for  immediate  progress,  and,  at  the  head  of  the  ar- 
my, which  had  been  sent  out  to  destroy  him,  Florestan  in  due 
course,  entered  the  enthusiastic  city,  which  recognized  him  as 
its  sovereign.  The  city  was  illuminated,  and  he  went  to  the 
opera  in  the  evening.  The  singing  was  not  confined  to  the 
theatre.  During  the  whole  night  the  city  itself  was  one  song 
of  joy  and  triumph,  and  that  night  no  one  slept. 

After  this  there  was  no  trouble  and  no  delay.  It  was  a  tri- 
umphal march.  Every  town  opened  its  gates,  and  devoted 
municipalities  proffered  golden  keys.  Every  village  sent 
forth  its  troop  of  beautiful  maidens,  scattering  roses,  and  sing- 
ing the  national  anthem  which  had  been  composed  by  Queen 
Agrippina.  On  the  tenth  day  of  the  invasion  King  Florestan, 
utterly  unopposed,  entered  the  magnificent  capital  of  his  realm, 
and  slept  in  the  purple  bed  which  had  witnessed  his  princely 
birth. 

Among  all  the  strange  revolutions  of  this  year,  this  adven- 
ture of  Florestan  was  not  the-  least  interesting  to  the  English 
people.  Although  society  had  not  smiled  on  him,  he  had  al- 
ways been  rather  a  favorite  with  the  bulk  of  the  population. 
His  fine  countenance,  his  capital  horsemanship,  his  graceful 
bow  that  always  won  a  heart,  his  youth,  and  love  of  sport,  his 
English  education,  and  the  belief  that  he  was  sincere  in  his  re- 
gard for  the  country  where  he  had  been  so  long  a  guest,  were 
elements  of  popularity  that,  particularly  now  that  he  was  suc- 
cessful, were  unmistakable.  And  certainly  Lady  Roehamp- 
ton,  in  her  solitude,  did  not  disregard  his  career  or  conduct. 
They  were  naturally  often  in  her  thoughts,  for  there  was 
scarcely  a  day  in  which  his  name  did  not  figure  in  the  news- 
papers, and  always  in  connection  with  matters  of  general 
interest  and  concern.  The  government  he  established  was  lib- 
eral, but  it  was  discreet,  and  though  conciliatory,  firm.  "  If 
he  declares  for  the  English  alliance,"  said  Waldershare,  "  he 
is  safe;"  and  he  did  declare  for  the  English   alliance,  and  the 


ENDTMION.  357 

English  people  were  very  pleased  by  his  declaration,  which  in 
their  apprehension  meant  national  progress,  the  amelioration 
of  society,  and  increased  exports. 

The  main  point,  however,  which  interested  his  subjects  was 
his  marriage.  That  was  both  a  difficult  and  a  delicate  matter 
to  decide.  The  great  Continental  dynasties  looked  with  some 
jealousy  and  suspicion  on  him;  and  the  small  reigning  houses, 
who  were  all  allied  with  the  great  Continental  dynasties, 
thought  it  prudent  to  copy  their  example.  All  these  reigning 
families,  whether  large  or  small,  were  themselves  in  a  per- 
plexed and  alarmed  position  at  this  period,  very  disturbed 
about  their  present,  and  very  doubtful  about  their  future.  At 
last  it  was  understood  that  a  princess  of  Saxe-Babel,  though 
allied  with  royal  and  imperial  houses,  might  share  the  diadem 
of  a  successful  adventurer;  and  then  in  time,  and  when  it  had 
been  sufficiently  reiterated,  paragraphs  appeared  unequivo- 
cally contradicting  the  statement,  followed  with  agreeable  as- 
surances that  it  was  unlikely  that  a  princess  of  Saxe-Babel,  al- 
lied with  royal  and  imperial  houses,  should  unite  herself  to  a 
parvenu  monarch,  however  powerful.  Then  in  turn  these  ar- 
ticles were  stigmatized  as  libels,  and  entirely  unauthorized,  and 
no  less  a  personage  than  a  princess  of  the  house  of  Saxe- 
Genesis  was  talked  of  as  the  future  queen ;  but  on  referring  to 
the  Almanack  de  Gotha^  it  was  discovered  that  family  had 
been  extinct  since  the  first  French  Revolution.  So  it  seemed 
at  last  that  nothing  was  certain,  except  that  his  subjects  were 
very  anxious  that  King  Florestan  should  present  them  with  a 
queen. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVII. 

As  time  flew  on,  the  friends  of  Lady  Roehampton  thought, 
and  spoke,  with  anxiety  about  her  re-entrance  into  society. 
Mr.  Sidney  Wilton  had  lent  Gaydene  to  her  for  the  autuipn, 
when  he  always  visited  Scotland,  and  the  winter  had  passed 
away  uninterruptedly,  at  a  charming  and  almost  unknown 
watering-place,  where  she  seemed  the  only  visitant,  and  where 
she  wandered  about  m  silence  on  the  sands.  The  time  was 
fast  approaching  when  the  inevitable  year  of  seclusion  would 
expn-e,  and  Lady  Roehampton  gave  no  indication  of  anv 
change  m  her  life  and  habits.  At  length,  after  many  appeals 
and  expostulations  and  entreaties  and  little  scenes,  the  second 


35S  ENDTMION, 

year  of  the  widowhood  having  advanced  some  months,  it  was 
decided  that  Lady  Roehampton  should  re-enter  society,  and 
the  occasion  on  which  this  was  to  take  place  was  no  mean  one. 

Lady  Montfort  was  to  give  a  ball  early  in  June,  and  royalty 
itself  was  to  be  her  guests.  The  entertainments  at  Montfort 
House  were  always  magnificent,  but  this  was  to  exceed  ac- 
customed splendor.  All  the  world  was  to  be  there,  and  all  the 
world  who  were  not  invited  were  in  as  much  despair  as  if  they 
had  lost  their  fortune  or  their  character. 

Lady  Roehampton  had  a  passion  for  light,  provided  the 
light  was  not  supplied  by  gas  or  oil.  Her  saloons,  even  when 
alone,  were  always  brilliantly  illuminated.  She  held  that  the 
moral  effect  of  such  a  circumstance  on  her  temperament  was 
beneficial,  and  not  slight.  It  is  a  rare,  but  by  no  means  a 
singular,  iDelief.  When  she  descended  into  her  drawing-rooms 
on  the  critical  night,  its  resplendence  was  some  preparation  for 
the  scene  which  awaited  her.  She  stood  for  a  moment  before 
the  tall  mirror  which  reflected  her  whole  person.  What  were 
her  thoughts  ?  What  was  the  impression  that  the  fair  vision 
conveyed  ? 

Her  countenance  was  grave,  but  it  was  not  sad.  Myra  had 
now  completed,  or  was  on  the  point  of  completing,  her  thirtieth 
year.  She  was  a  woman  of  transcendent  beauty ;  perhaps  she 
might  justly  be  described  as  the  most  beautiful  woman  then 
alive.  Time  had  even  improved  her  commanding  mein,  the 
graceful  sweep  of  her  figure,  and  the  voluptuous  undulation  of 
her  shoulders ;  but  time  also  had  spared  those  charms  which 
are  more  incidental  to  early  youth — the  splendor  of  her  com- 
plexion, the  whiteness  of  her  teeth,  and  the  lustre  of  her  violet 
eyes.  She  had  cut  off  in  her  grief  the  profusion  of  her  dark 
chestnut  locks  that  once  reached  to  her  feet,  and  she  wore  her 
hair  as  what  was  then,  and  perhaps  is  now,  called  a  crop;  but 
it  was  luxuriant  in  natural  quantity  and  rich  in  color,  and  most 
effectively  set  off  her  arched  brow,  and  the  oval  of  her  fresh 
and  beauteous  cheek.  The  crop  was  crowned  to-night  by  a 
coronet  of  brilliants. 

"Your  cai-riage  is  ready,  my  lady,"  said  a  sei-\'ant;  "but 
there  is  a  gentleman  below  who  has  brought  a  letter  for  your 
ladyship,  and  which,  he  says,  he  must  personally  deliver  to 
you,  madam.  I  told  him  your  ladyship  was  going  out  and 
could  not  see  him,  but  he  put  his  card  in  this  envelope,  and  re- 
quested that  I  would  hand  it  to  you,  madam.     He  says  he  will 


ENDTMION,  359 

only  deliver  the  letter  to  your  ladyship,  and  not  detain  you  a 
moment." 

Lady  Roehampton  opened  the  envelope,  and  read  the  card, 
"  The  Duke  of  St.  Angelo." 

"  The  Duke  of  St.  Angelo,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  and 
looked  for  a  moment  abstracted;  then,  turning  to  the  servant, 
said,  "  He  must  be  shown  up." 

"  Madam,"  said  the  duke  as  he  entered,  and  bowed  with 
much  ceremony,  "  I  am  ashamed  of  appearing  to  be  an  in- 
truder, but  my  commands  were  to  deliver  this  letter  to  your 
ladyship  immediately  on  my  arrival,  whatever  the  hour.  I 
have  only  this  instant  arrived.  We  had  a  bad  passage.  I 
know  your  ladyship's  carriage  is  at  the  door.  I  will  redeem 
my  pledge  and  not  trespass  on  your  time  for  one  instant.  If 
your  ladyship  requires  me,  I  am  ever  at  your  command." 

"At  Carlton  Gardens?" 

"No;  at  our  embassy." 

"His  Majesty,  I  hope,  is  well?" 

"  In  every  sense,  my  lady,"  and,  bowing  to  the  ground,  the 
duke  withdrew. 

She  broke  the  seal  of  the  letter  while  still  standing,  and 
held  it  to  a  sconce  that  was  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  then  she 
read: 

"  You  were  the  only  person  I  called  upon  when  I  suddenly 
left  England.  I  had  no  hope  of  seeing  you,  but  it  was  the 
homage  of  gratitude  and  adoration.  Great  events  have  hap- 
pened since  we  last  met.  I  have  realized  my  dreams — dreams 
which  I  sometimes  fancied  you,  and  you  alone,  did  not  depre- 
ciate or  discredit,  and,  in  the  sweetness  of  your  charity,  would 
not  have  been  sorry  were  they  accomplished. 

"  I  have  established  what  I  believe  to  be  a  strong  and  just 
government  in  a  great  kingdom.  I  have  not  been  uninfluenced 
by  the  lessons  of  wisdom  I  gained  in  your  illustrious  land.  I 
have  done  some  things  which  it  was  a  solace  for  me  to  believe 
you  would  not  altogether  disapprove. 

"  My  subjects  are  anxious  that  the  dynasty  I  have  re-estab- 
lished should  not  be  evanescent.  Is  it  too  bold  to  hope  that  I 
may  find  a  companion  in  you  to  charm  and  to  counsel  me?  I 
can  offer  you  nothing  equal  to  your  transcendent  merit,  but  I 
can  offer  you  the  heart  and  the  throne  of 

Florestan." 


360  ENDTMION, 

Still  holding  the  letter  in  one  hand,  she  looked  around  as  if 
some  one  might  be  present.  Her  cheek  was  scarlet,  and  there 
was  for  a  moment  an  expression  of  wildness  in  her  glance. 
Then  she  paced  the  saloon  with  an  agitated  step,  and  then  she 
read  the  letter  again  and  again,  and  still  she  paced  the  saloon. 
The  whole  history  of  her  life  revolved  before  her;  every 
scene,  every  character,  every  thought  and  sentiment  and  pas- 
sion. The  brightness  of  her  nursery  days,  and  Hurstley  with 
all  it  miseries,  and  Hainault  with  its  gardens,  and  the  critical 
hour  which  had  opened  to  her  a  future  of  such  unexpected  lus- 
tre and  happiness. 

The  clock  had  struck  more  than  once  during  this  long  and 
terrible  soliloquy,  wherein  she  had  to  search  and  penetrate  her 
inmost  heart,  and  now  it  struck  two.  She  started,  and  hur- 
riedly rang  the  bell. 

"  I  shall  not  want  the  carriage  to-night,"  she  said,  and 
when  again  alone,  she  sat  down  and  burying  her  face  in  her 
alabaster  arms,  for  a  long  time  remained  motionless. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVm. 

Had  he  been  a  youth  about  to  make  a  debut  in  the  great 
world,  Sidney  Wilton  could  not  have  been  more  agitated  than 
he  felt  at  the  prospect  of  the  fete  at  Montfort  House.  Lady 
Roehampton,  after  nearly  two  years  of  retirement,  was  about 
to  re-enter  society.  During  this  interval  she  had  not  been  es- 
tranged from  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  been  her  fre- 
quent and  customary  companion;  except  Adriana  and  Lady 
Montfort  and  her  brother,  it  might  almost  be  said  her  only 
one.  Why,  then,  was  he  agitated?  He  had  been  living  in  a 
dream  for  two  years,  cherishing  wild  thoughts  of  exquisite  hap- 
piness. He  would  have  been  content  had  the  dream  never 
been  disturbed;  but  this  return  to  hard  and  practical  life  of 
her  whose  unconscious  witchery  had  thrown  a  spell  over  his 
existence  roused  him  to  the  reality  of  his  position,  and  it  was 
one  of  terrible  emotion. 

During  the  life  of  her  husband,  Sidney  Wilton  had  been  the 
silent  adorer  of  Myra.  With  every  accomplishment  and  every 
advantage  that  is  supposed  to  make  life  delightful — a  fine 
countenance,  a  noble  mien,  a  manner  natural  and  attractive,  an 
ancient  lineage,  and  a  vast  estate — he  was  the  favorite  of  so- 
ciety, who  did  more  than  justice  to  his  talents,  which,  though 


ENDTMION,  361 

not  brilliant,  were  considerable,  and  who  could  not  too  much 
appreciate  the  high  tone  of  his  mind,  his  generosity  and  cour- 
age, and  true  patrician  spirit  which  inspired  all  his  conduct  and 
guided  him  ever  to  do  that  which  was  liberal  and  gracious 
and  just. 

There  was  only  one  fault  which  society  found  in  Sidney 
Wilton;  he  would  not  marry.  This  was  provoking,  because 
he  was  the  man  of  all  others  who  ought  to  marry  and  make  a 
heroine  happy.  Society  did  not  give  it  up  till  he  was  forty, 
about  the  time  he  became  acquainted  with  Lady  Roehampton; 
and  that  incident  threw  no  light  on  his  purposes  or  motives,  for 
he  was  as  discreet  as  he  was  devoted,  and  Myra  herself  was 
unconscious  of  his  being  anything  to  her  save  the  dearest 
friend  of  her  father  and  the  most  cherished  companion  of  her 
husband. 

When  one  feels  deeply,  one  is  apt  to  act  suddenly,  perhaps 
rashly.  There  are  moments  in  life  when  suspense  can  be 
borne  no  longer.  And  Sidney  Wilton,  who  had  been  a  silent 
votary  for  more  than  ten  years,  now  felt  that  the  slightest  delay 
in  his  fate  would  be  intolerable.  It  was  the  ball  at  Montfort 
House  that  should  be  the  scene  of  this  decision  of  destiny. 

She  was  about  to  re-enter  society,  radiant  as  the  morn, 
amidst  flowers  and  music,  and  all  the  accidents  of  social 
splendor.  His  sympathetic  heart  had  been  some  solace  to  her 
in  her  sorrow  and  her  solitude.  Now,  in  the  joyous  blaze  of 
life,  he  was  resolved  to  ask  her  whether  it  were  impossible 
that  they  should  never  again  separate,  and  in  the  crowd,  as 
well  as  when  alone,  feel  their  mutual  devotion. 

Mr.  Wilton  was  among  those  who  went  early  to  Montfort 
House,  which  was  not  his  wont;  but  he  was  restless  and  dis- 
quieted. She  could  hardly  have  arrived ;  but  there  would  be 
some  there  who  would  speak  of  her.  That  was  a  great  thing. 
Sidney  Wilton  had  arrived  at  that  state  when  conversation  can 
only  interest  on  one  subject.  When  a  man  is  really  in  love,  he 
is  disposed  to  believe  that,  like  himself,  everybody  is  thinking 
of  the  person  who  engrosses  his  brain  and  heart. 

The  magnificent  saloons,  which  in  half  an  hour  would  be 
almost  impassable,  were  only  sprinkled  with  guests,  w4io,  how- 
ever, were  constantly  arriving.  Mr.  Wilton  looked  about  him 
in  vain  for  the  person  who  he  was  quite  sure  could  not  then  be 
present.  He  lingered  by  the  side  of  Lady  Montfort,  who 
bowed  to  those  who  came,  but  who  could  spare  few  consecu- 
live  words,  even  to  Mr.  Wilton,  for  her  watchful  eye  expected 


362  END  r MI  ON, 

every  moment  to  be  summoned  to  descend  her  marble  staircase 
and  receive  her  royal  guests. 

The  royal  guests  arrived;  there  was  a  grand  stir,  and  many 
gracious  bows,  and  some  cordial,  but  dignified,  shake-hands. 
The  rooms  were  crowded;  yet  space  in  the  ball-room  was 
well  preserved,  so  that  the  royal  vision  might  range  with  facil- 
ity, from  its  golden  chairs  to  the  beauteous  beings,  and  still 
more  beautiful  costumes,  displaying  with  fervent  loyalty  their 
fascinating  charms. 

There  was  a  new  band  to-night,  that  had  come  from  some 
distant  but  celebrated  capital — musicians  known  by  fame  to 
everybody,  but  whom  nobody  had  ever  heard.  They  played 
wonderfully  on  instruments  of  new  invention,  and  divinely 
upon  old  ones.  It  was  impossible  that  anything  could  be  more 
gay  and  inspiriting  than  their  silver  bugles  and  their  carillons 
of  tinkling  bells. 

They  found  an  echo  in  the  heart  of  Sidney  Wilton,  who, 
seated  near  the  entrance  of  the  ball-room,  watched  every  arriv'al 
with  anxious  expectation.  But  the  anxiety  vanished  for  a 
moment  under  the  influence  of  the  fantastic  and  frolic  strain. 
It  seemed  a  harbinger  of  happiness  and  joy.  He  fell  into  a 
reverie,  and  wandered  with  a  delightful  companion  in  castles 
of  perpetual  sunshine  and  green  retreats  and  pleasant  terraces. 

But  the  lady  never  came. 

Then  the  strain  changed.  There  happenad  to  be  about 
this  time  a  truly  diabolic  opera  much  in  vogue,  with  unearthly 
choruses  and  dances  of  fiendish  revelry.  These  had  been 
skilfully  adapted  and  introduced  by  the  musicians,  converting 
a  dark  and  tragic  theme  into  wild  and  grotesque  merriment. 
But  they  could  not  succeed  in  diverting  the  mind  of  one  of 
their  audience  from  the  character  of  the  original  composition. 
Dark  thoughts  and  images  fell  upon  the  spirit  of  Sidney  Wil- 
ton; his  hope  and  courage  left  him.  He  almost  felt  he  could 
not  execute  to-night  the  bold  purpose  he  had  brooded  over.  He 
did  not  feel  in  good-fortune.  There  seemed  some  demon  gib- 
bering near  him,  and  he  was  infinitely  relieved,  like  a  man 
released  from  some  mesmeric  trance,  when  the  music  ceased, 
the  dance  broke  up,  and  he  found  himself  surrounded,  not  by 
demons,  but  the  usual  companions  of  his  daily  life. 

But  the  lady  never  came. 

"  Where  can  your  sister  be  ? "  said  Lady  Montfort  to  Endy- 
mion.  "  She  promised  me  to  come  early ;  something  must 
have  happened.     Is  she  ill?" 


ENDTMION,  363 

"  Quite  well ;  I  saw  her  before  I  left  Hill  Street.  She 
wished  me  to  come  alone,  as  she  would  not  be  here  early." 

"  I  hope  she  will  be  in  time  for  the  royal  supper-table  *  I 
quite  count  on  her." 

"  She  is  sure  to  be  here." 

Lord  Hainault  was  in  earnest  conversation  with  Baron  Ser- 
gius,  now  the  minister  of  King  Florestan  at  the  Court  of  St. 
James.  It  was  a  wise  appointment,  for  Sergius  knew  inti- 
mately all  the  English  statesmen  of  eminence,  and  had  known 
them  for  many  years.  They  did  not  look  upon  him  as  the 
mere  representative  of  a  revolutionary  and  parvenu  sovereign; 
he  was  quite  one  of  themselves — had  graduated  at  the  Congress 
of  Vienna,  and,  it  was  believed,  had  softened  many  subsequent 
difficulties  by  his  sagacity.  He  had  always  been  a  cherished 
guest  at  Apsley  House,  and  it  was  known  the  great  duke  often 
consulted  him.  "As  long  as  Sergius  sways  his  councils,  he 
will  indulge  in  no  adventures,"  said  Europe.  "As  long  as 
Sergius  remains  here,  the  English  alliance  is  safe,"  said  Eng- 
land. After  Europe  and  England,  the  most  important  confi- 
dence to  obtain  was  that  of  Lord  Hainault,  and  Baron  Sergius 
had  been  not  unsuccessful  in  that  respect. 

"  Your  master  has  only  to  be  liberal  and  steady,"  said  Lord 
Hainault,  with  his  accustomed  genial  yet  half-sarcastic  smile, 
"  and  he  may  have  anything  he  likes.  But  we  do  not  want 
any  wars;  they  are  not  liked  in  the  City." 

"  Our  policy  is  peace,"  said  Sergius. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  congratulate  Sir  Peter,"  said  Mr. 
Waldershare  to  Adriana,  with  whom  he  had  been  dancing, 
and  whom  he  was  leading  back  to  Lady  Hainault.  "  Sir 
Peter,  here  is  a  lady  who  wishes  to  congratulate  you  on  your 
deserved  elevation." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know  what  to  say  about  it,"  said  the  former 
Mr.  Vigo,  highly  gratified,  but  a  little  confused ;  "  my  friends 
would  have  it." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Waldershare,  "  *  at  the  request  of  friends ;' 
the  excuse  I  gave  for  publishing  my  sonnets."  And  then,  ad- 
vancing, he  delivered  his  charge  to  her  chaperon^  who  looked 
dreamy,  abstracted,  and  uninterested. 

"  We  have  just  been  congratulating  the  new  baronet.  Sir 
Peter  Vigo,"  said  Waldershare. 

"Ah!"  said  Lady  Hainault  with  a  contemptuous  sigh,  "  He 
is,  at  any  rate,  not  obliged  to  change  his  name.  The  desire  to 
change  one's  name  does,  indeed,  appear  to  me  to  be  a  singular 


364.  END  r MI  ON. 

folly.  If  your  name  had  been  disgraced  I  could  understand  it, 
as  I  could  understand  a  man  then  going  about  in  a  mask.  But 
the  odd  thing  is,  the  persons  who  always  want  to  change  their 
names  are  those  whose  names  are  the  most  honored." 

"  Oh,  you  are  here,"  said  Mr.  St.  Barbe,  acidly,  to  Mr.  Sey- 
mour Hicks."  I  think  you  are  everywhere.  I  suppose  they 
will  make  you  a  baronet  next.  Have  you  seen  the  batch?  I 
could  not  believe  my  eyes  when  I  read  it.  I  believe  the  gov- 
ernment is  demented.  Not  a  single  literary  man  among  them. 
Not  that  I  wanted  their  baronetcy.  Nothing  would  have 
tempted  me  to  accept  one.  But  there  is  Gushy ;  he,  I  know, 
would  have  liked  it.  I  must  say,  I  feel  for  Gushy;  his  works 
only  selling  half  what  they  did,  and  then  thrown  over  in  this 
insolent  manner!" 

"  Gushy  is  not  in  society,"  said  Mr.  Seymour  Hicks,  in  a 
solemn  tone  of  contemptuous  pity. 

"  That  is  society,"  said  St.  Barbe,  as  he  received  a  bow  of 
haughty  grace  from  Mrs.  Rodney,  who,  fascinating  and  fas- 
cinated, was  listening  to  the  enamoured  murmurs  of  an  indi- 
vidual with  a  very  bright  star  and  a  very  red  ribbon. 

"  I  dined  with  the  Rodneys  yesterday,"  said  Mr.  Seymour 
Hicks;  "  they  do  the  thing  well." 

"  You  dined  there !"  exclaimed  St.  Barbe.  "  It  is  very  odd, 
they  have  never  asked  me.  Not  that  I  would  have  accepted 
their  invitation.  I  avoid  parvenus.  They  are  too  fidgety  for 
my  taste.  I  require  repose,  and  only  dine  with  the  old  no- 
bility." 

CHAPTER   LXXXIX. 

The  Right  Hon.  Job  Thornberry  and  Mrs.  Thornberry  had 
received  an  invitation  to  the  Montfort  ball.  Job  took  up  the 
card,  and  turned  it  over  more  than  once,  and  looked  at  it  as  if  it 
were  some  strange  animal,  with  an  air  of  pleased  and  yet  cyni- 
cal perplexity;  then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  murmured 
to  himself,  "No;  I  don't  think  that  will  do.  Besides,  I  must 
be  at  Hurstley  by  that  time." 

Going  to  Hurstley  now  was  not  so  formidable  an  affair  as 
it  was  in  Endymion's  boyhood.  Then  the  journey  occupied  a 
whole  and  a  wearisome  day.  Little  Hurstley  had  become  a 
busy  station  of  the  great  Slap-bang  Railway,  and  a  despatch- 
train  landed  you  at  the  bustling  and  flourishing  hostlery,  our 
old  and  humble  friend  the  Horse-shoe,  within  the  two  hours. 


BNDTMION.  365 

It  was  a  rate  that  satisfied  even  Thornberry,  and  almost  rec- 
onciled him  to  the  too  frequent  presence  of  his  wife  and  fam- 
ily at  Hurstley,  a  place  to  which  Mrs.  Thornberry  had,  it 
would  seem,  become  passionately  attached. 

"  There  is  a  charm  about  the  place,  I  must  say,"  said  Job  ta 
himself,  as  he  reached  his  picturesque  home  on  a  rich  summer 
evening ;  "  and  yet  I  hated  it  as  a  boy.  To  be  sure,  I  was 
then  discontented  and  unhappy,  and  now  I  have  every  reason 
to  be  much  the  reverse.  Our  feelings  affect  even  scenery.  It 
certainly  is  a  pretty  place — I  really  think  one  of  the  prettiest 
places  in  England." 

Job  was  cordially  welcomed.  His  wife  embraced  him,  and 
the  younger  children  clung  to  him  with  an  affection  which 
was  not  diminished  by  the  remembrance  that  their  father 
never  visited  them  with  empty  hands.  His  eldest  son,  a  good- 
looking  and  well-grown  stripling,  just  home  for  the  holidays, 
stood  apart,  determined  to  show  he  was  a  man  of  the  world, 
and  superior  to  the  weakness  of  domestic  sensibility.  When 
the  hubbub  was  a  little  over  he  advanced  and  shook  hands 
with  his  father  with  a  certain  dignity. 

"  And  when  did  you  arrive,  my  boy  ?  I  was  looking  up 
your  train  in  Bradshaw  as  I  came  along.  I  made  out  you 
should  get  the  branch  at  Culvers  Gate." 

"I  drove  over,"  replied  the  son;  "I  and  a  friend  of  mine 
drove  tandem,  and  I'll  bet  we  got  here  sooner  than  we  should 
have  done  by  the  branch." 

"  Hem !  "  said  Job  Thornberry. 

"Job,"  said  Mrs.  Thornberry,  "  I  have  made  two  engage- 
ments for  you  this  evening.  First,  we  will  go  and  see  your 
father,  and  then  we  are  to  drink  tea  at  the  rectory." 

"  Hem ! "  said  Job  Thornberry ;  "  well,  I  would  rather  the 
first  evening  should  have  been  a  quiet  one ;  but  let  it  be  so." 

The  visit  to  the  father  was  kind,  dutiful,  and  wearisome. 
There  was  not  a  single  subject  on  which  the  father  and  son  had 
thoughts  in  common.  The  conversation  of  the  father  took 
various  forms  of  expressing  his  wonder  that  his  son  had  become 
what  he  w^as;  and  the  son  could  only  smile  and  turn  the  sub- 
ject by  asking  after  the  produce  of  some  particular  field  that 
had  been  prolific  or  obstinate  in  old  days.  Mrs.  Thornberry 
looked  absent,  and  was  thinking  of  the  rectory;  the  grandson 
who  had  accompanied  them  was  silent  and  supercilious;  and 
everybody  felt  relieved  when  Mrs.  Thornberry,  veiling  her 
impatience  by  her  fear  of  keeping  her  father-in-law  up  late, 


356  ENDT-MION. 

made  a  determined  move  and  concluded  the  domestic  ceremony. 

The  rectory  afforded  a  lively  contrast  to  the  late  scene.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Penruddock  were  full  of  intelligence  and  animation. 
Their  welcome  of  Mr.  Thornberry  was  exactly  what  it  ought 
to  have  been — respectful,  even  somewhat  deferential,  but  cor- 
dial and  unaffected.  They  conversed  on  all  subjects,  public  and 
private,  and  on  both  seemed  equally  well  informed;  for  they 
not  only  read  more  than  one  newspaper,  but  Mrs.  Penruddock 
had  an  extensive  correspondence,  the  conduct  of  which  was 
one  of  the  chief  pleasures  and  excitements  of  her  life.  Their 
tea-equipage,  too,  was  a  picture  of  abundance  and  refinement. 
Such  pretty  china,  and  such  various  and  delicious  cates!  White 
bread,  and  brown  bread,  and  plum-cakes,  and  seed-cakes,  and 
no  end  of  cracknels,  and  toasts,  dry  or  buttered.  Mrs.  Thorn- 
berry  seemed  enchanted  and  gushing  with  affection — every- 
body was  dear  or  dearest.  Even  the  face  of  John  Hampden 
beamed  with  condescending  delight  as  he  devoured  a  pyramid 
of  dainties. 

Just  before  the  tea-equipage  was  introduced,  Mrs.  Penrud- 
dock rose  from  her  seat  and  whispered  something  to  Mrs. 
Thornberry,  who  seemed  pleased,  and  agitated,  and  a  little 
blushing,  and  then  their  hostess  addressed  Job,  and  said,  "  I 
was  mentioning  to  your  wife  that  the  archbishop  was  here,  and 
that  I  hope  you  would  not  dislike  meeting  him." 

And  very  shortly  after  this  the  archbishop,  who  had  been 
taking  a  village  walk,  entered  the  room.  It  was  evident  that 
he  was  intimate  with  the  occupiers  of  Hurstley  Hall.  He 
addressed  Mrs.  Thornberry  with  the  ease  of  habitual  acquaint- 
ance, while  John  Hampden  seemed  almost  to  rush  into  his 
arms.  Job,  himself,  had  seen  his  grace  in  London,  though  he 
had  never  had  the  opportunity  of  speaking  to  him,  but  yielded 
to  his  cordiality,  when  the  archbishop,  on  his  being  named, 
said,  "  It  is  a  pleasure  to  meet  an  old  friend,  and,  in  times  past, 
a  kind  one." 

It  was  a  most  agreeable  evening.  The  archbishop  talked  to 
every  one,  but  never  seemed  to  engross  the  conversation.  He 
talked  to  the  ladies  of  gardens,  and  cottages,  and  a  little  of 
books,  seemed  deeply  interested  in  the  studies  and  progress  of 
the  grandson  Thornberry,  who  evidently  idolized  him;  and  in 
due  course  his  grace  was  engaged  in  economical  speculations 
with  Job  himself,  who  was  quite  pleased  to  find  a  priest  as 
liberal  and  enlightened  as  he  was  able  and  thoroughly  informed. 


ENDTMION.  367 

An  hour  before  midnight,  they  sejDarated,  though  the  arch- 
bishop attended  them  to  the  hall. 

Mrs.  Thornberry's  birthday  was  near  at  hand,  which  Job 
always  commemorated  with  a  gift.  It  had  commenced  with 
some  severe  offering  like  "  Paradise  Lost,"  then  it  fell  into  the 
gentler  form  of  Tennyson,  and  of  late,  unconsciously  under  the 
influence  of  his  wife,  it  had  taken  the  shape  of  a  bracelet  or  a 
shawl. 

This  evening,  as  he  was  rather  feeling  his  way  as  to  what 
might  please  her  most,  Mrs.  Thornberry  embracing  him  and 
hiding  her  face  on  his  breast,  murmured,  "  Do  not  give  me  any 
jewel,  dear  Job.  What  I  should  like  would  be  that  you  should 
restore  the  chapel  here." 

"Restore  the  chapel  here!  oh,  oh!"  said  Job  Thornberry. 


CHAPTER  XC. 

The  archbishop  called  at  Hurstley  House  the  next  day.  It 
was  a  visit  to  Mr.  Thornberry,  but  all  the  family  was  soon 
present,  and  clustered  round  the  visitor.  Then  they  walked 
together  in  the  gardens,  which  had  become  radiant  under  the 
taste  and  unlimited  expenditure  of  Mrs.  Thornberry;  beds 
glowing  with  color  or  rivalling  mosaics,  choice  conifers  with 
their  green  or  purple  fruit,  and  rare  roses  with  their  fanciful 
and  beauteous  names;  one,  by-the-bye,  named  "Mrs.  Penrud- 
dock,"  and  a  very  gorgeous  one  "  The  Archbishop." 

As  they  swept  along  the  terraces,  restored  to  their  pristine 
comeliness,  and  down  the  green  avenues  bounded  by  copper 
beeches  and  ancient  yews,  where  men  were  sweeping  away 
every  leaf  and  twig  that  had  fallen  in  the  night  and  marred 
the  consummate  order,  it  must  have  been  difficult  for  the 
Archbishop  of  Tyre  not  to  recall  the  days  gone  by,  when  this 
brilliant  and  finished  scene,  then  desolate  and  neglected,  the 
abode  of  beauty  and  genius,  yet  almost  of  penury,  had  been  to 
him  a  world  of  deep  and  familiar  interest.  Yes,  he  was  walk- 
ing in  the  same  glade  where  he  had  once  pleaded  his  own 
cause  with  an  eloquence  which  none  of  his  most  celebrated  ser- 
mons had  excelled.  Did  he  think  of  this?  If  he  did,  it  was 
only  to  wrench  the  thought  from  his  memory.  Archbishops 
who  are  yet  young,  who  are  resolved  to  be  cardinals,  and  who 
may  be  popes,  are  superior  to  all  human  vsreakness. 

"  I  should  like  to  look  at  your  chapel,"  said  his  grace  to  Mr. 


368  END  r MI  ON. 

Thornberry ;  "  I  remember  it  a  lumber-room,  and  used  to 
mourn  over  its  desecration." 

"  I  never  w^as  in  it,"  said  Job,  "  and  cannot  understand  why 
my  wife  is  so  anxious  about  it  as  she  seems  to  be.  When  we 
first  went  to  London,  she  always  sat  under  the  Reverend  vSer- 
vetus  Frost,  and  seemed  very  satisfied.  I  have  heard  him;  a 
sensible  man — but  sermons  are  not  much  in  my  way,  and  I  do 
not  belong  to  his  sect,  or  indeed  any  other." 

However,  they  went  to  the  chapel  all  the  same,  for  Mrs. 
Thornberry  was  resolved  on  the  visit.  It  was  a  small  chamber, 
but  beautifully  proportioned,  like  the  mansion  itself — of  a 
blended  Italian  and  Gothic  style.  The  roof  was  flat,  but  had 
been  richly  gilt  and  painted,  and  was  sustained  by  corbels  of 
angels,  divinely  carved.  There  had  been  some  pews  in  the 
building;  some  had  fallen  to  pieces,  and  some  remained,  but 
these  were  not  in  the  original  design.  The  sacred  table  had 
disappeared,  but  two  saintly  statues,  sculptured  in  black  oak, 
seemed  to  guard  the  spot  which  it  had  consecrated. 

"  I  wonder  what  became  of  the  communion-table  ? "  said  Job. 

"  Oh !  my  dear  father,  do  not  call  it  a  communion-table,"  ex- 
claimed John  Hampden,  pettishly. 

"  Why,  what  should  I  call  it,  my  boy  ? " 

"  The  altar." 

"  Why,  what  does  it  signify  what  we  call  it.  The  thing  is 
the  same." 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  the  young  gentleman,  in  a  tone  of  con- 
temptuous enthusiasm, "  it  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 
There  should  be  a  stone  altar  and  a  reredos.  We  have  put  up 
a  reredos  in  our  chapel  at  Bradley.  All  the  fellows  subscribed ; 
I  gave  a  sovereign." 

"  Well,  I  must  say,"  said  the  archbishop,  who  had  been 
standing  in  advance  with  Mrs.  Thornberry  and  the  children, 
while  this  brief  and  becoming  conversation  was  taking  place 
between  father  and  son,  "  I  think  you  could  hardly  do  a  better 
thing  than  restore  this  chapel,  Mr.  Thornberry,  but  there  must 
be  no  mistake  about  it.  It  must  be  restored  to  the  letter,  and 
it  is  a  style  that  is  not  commonly  understood.  I  have  a  friend, 
however,  who  is  master  of  it,  the  most  rising  man  in  his  pro- 
fession, as  far  as  church  architecture  is  concerned,  and  I  will  get 
him  just  to  run  down  and  look  at  this,  and  if,  as  I  hope,  you 
resolve  to  restore  it,  rest  assured  he  will  do  you  justice,  and  you 
will  be  proud  of  your  place  of  worship." 

"  I  do  not  care  how  much  we  spend  on  our  gardens,"  said 


ENDTMION.  369 

Job,  "  for  they  are  transitory  pleasures,  an.,  we  enjoy  what  we 
produce;  but  why  I  should  restore  a  chapel  in  a  house  which 
does  not  belong  to  myself  is  not  so  clear  to  me." 

*'  But  it  should  belong  to  yourself,"  rejoined  the  archbishop. 
"  Hurstley  is  not  in  the  market,  but  it  is  to  be  purchased.  Take 
it  altogether,  I  have  always  thought  it  one  of  the  most  enviable 
possessions  in  the  world.  The  house  when  put  in  order,  would 
be  one  of  the  ornaments  of  the  kingdom.  The  acreage, 
though  considerable,  is  not  overwhelming,  and  there  is  a  range 
of  wild  country  of  endless  charm.  I  wandered  about  it  in  my 
childhood  and  my  youth,  and  I  have  never  known  anything 
equal  to  it.  Then  as  to  the  soil  and  all  that,  you  know  it. 
You  are  a  son  of  the  soil.  You  left  it  for  great  objects,  and 
you  have  attained  those  objects.  They  have  given  you  fiime 
as  well  as  fortune.  There  would  be  something  wonderfully 
dignified  and  graceful  in  returning  to  the  land  after  you  have 
taken  the  principal  part  in  solving  the  difficulties  which  per- 
tained to  it,  and  emancipating  it  from  many  perils." 

"  I  am  sure  it  would  be  the  happiest  day  of  my  life,  if  Job 
would  purchase  Hurstley,"  said  Mrs.  Thornberry. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  Oxford,  and  my  father  purchase 
Hurstley,"  said  the  young  gentleman.  "  If  we  have  not  landed 
property,  I  would  sooner  have  none.  If  we  have  not  land,  I 
should  like  to  go  into  the  Church,  and  if  I  may  not  go  to 
Oxford,  I  would  go  to  Cuddesdon  at  once.  I  know  it  can  be 
done,  for  I  know  a  fellow  who  has  done  it." 

Poor  Job  Thornberry!  He  had  ruled  multitudes,  and  had 
conquered  and  commanded  senates.  His  sovereign  had  made 
him  one  of  her  privy-councillors,  and  half  a  million  of  people 
had  returned  him  their  representative  to  Parliament.  And 
here  he  stood  silent,  and  a  little  confused";  sapped  by  his  wife, 
bullied  by  his  son,  and  after  having  passed  a  great  part  of  his 
life  in  denouncing  sacerdotalism,  finding  his  whole  future  ca- 
reer chalked  out,  without  himself  being  consulted,  by  a  priest 
who  was  so  polite,  sensible,  and  so  truly  friendly,  that  his  man- 
ner seemed  to  deprive  its  victims  of  every  faculty  of  retort  or 
repartee.  Still  he  was  going  to  say  something  when  the  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Penruddock  appeared,  exclaiming  in  a  cheer- 
ful voice,  "  I  thought  I  should  find  you  here.  I  would  not 
have  troubled  your  grace,  but  this  letter  marked  '  private,  im- 
mediate, and  to  be  forwarded,'  has  been  wandering  about  for 
some  time,  and  I  thought  it  was  better  to  bring  it  to  you  at 


370  ENDTMION, 

The  Archbishop  of  Tyre  took  the  letter,  and  seemed  to 
start  as  he  read  the  direction.  Then  he  stood  aside,  opened 
it,  and  read  its  contents.  The  letter  was  from  Lady  Roe- 
hampton,  desiring  to  see  him  as  soon  as  possible  on  a  matter  of 
the  utmost  gravity,  and  entreating  him  not  to  delay  his  de- 
parture, wherever  he  might  be. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  quit  you  all,"  said  his  grace ;  "  but  I  must 
go  up  to  town  immediately.     The  business  is  urgent " 


CHAPTER  XCI. 

Endymion  arrived  at  home  very  late  from  the  Montfort 
ball,  and  rose  in  consequence  at  an  unusually  late  hour.  He 
had  taken  means  to  become  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the 
cause  of  his  sister's  absence  the  night  before,  so  he  had  no 
anxiety  on  that  head.  Lady  Roehainpton  had  really  Intended 
to  have  been  present,  was  indeed  dressed  for  the  occasion ;  but 
when  the  moment  of  trial  arrived,  she  was  absolutely  unequal 
to  the  effort.  All  this  was  amplified  in  a  little  note  from  his 
sister,  which  his  valet  brought  him  in  the  morning.  What, 
however,  considerably  surprised  him  in  this  communication 
was  her  announcement  that  her  feelings  last  night  had  proved 
to  her  that  she  ought  not  to  remain  In  London,  and  that  she  in- 
tended to  find  solitude  and  repose  in  the  little  watering-place 
where  she  had  passed  a  tranquil  autumn  during  the  first  year  of 
her  widowhood.  What  completed  his  astonishment,  however, 
was  the  closing  intimation  that.  In  all  probability,  she  would 
have  left  town  before  he  rose.  The  moment  she  had  got  a  lit- 
tle settled  she  would  write  to  him,  and  when  business  permit- 
ted, he  must  come  and  pay  her  a  little  visit. 

"  She  was  always  capricious,"  exclaimed  Lady  Montfort, 
who  had  not  forgotten  the  disturbance  of  her  royal  supper- 
table. 

•  "  Hardly  that,  I  think,"  said  Endymion.     "  I  have  always 
looked  on  Myra  as  a  singularly  consistent  character." 

"  I  know  you  never  admit  your  sister  has  a  fault." 

"  You  said  the  other  day  yourself  that  she  was  the  only  per- 
fect character  you  knew." 

"Did  I  say  that?     I  think  her  capricious." 

"I  do  not  think  you  arc  capricious,"  said  Endymion,  "and 
yet  the  world  sometimes  says  you  are." 

"  I  change  my  opinion  of  persons  when  my  taste  Is  offended," 


ENDTMION,  371 

said  Lady  Montfort.  "  What  I  admired  in  your  sister,  though 
I  confess  I  sometimes  wished  not  to  admire  her,  was  that  she 
never  offended  my  taste." 

"I  hope  satisfied  it,"  said  Endymion. 

"  Yes,  satisfied  it;  always  satisfied  it.  I  wonder  .what  will 
be  her  lot;  for,  considering  her  youth,  her  destiny  has  hardly 
begun.  Somehow  or  other,  I  do  not  think  she  will  marry 
Sidney  Wilton." 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  would  be,"  said  Endymion. 

"Well,  it  would  be,  I  think,  a  happy  match.  All  the  cir- 
cumstances would  be  collected  that  form  what  is  supposed  to 
be  happiness.  But  tastes  differ  about  destinies  as  well  as  about 
manners.  For  my  part,  I  think  to  have  a  husband  who  loved 
you,  and  he  clever,  accomplished,  charming,  ambitious,  would 
be  happiness;  but  I  doubt  whether  your  sister  cares  so  much 
about  these  things.  She  may,  of  course  does,  talk  to  you  more 
freely ;  but  with  others,  in  her  most  open  hours,  there  seems  a 
secret  fund  of  reserve  in  her  character  which  I  could  never 
penetrate,  except,  I  think,  it  is  a  reserve  which  does  not  orig- 
inate in  a  love  of  tranquillity,  but  quite  the  reverse.  She  is  a 
strong  character." 

"  Then  hardly  a  capricious  one." 

"No,  not  capricious;  I  only  said  that  to  tease  you.  lam 
capricious;  I  know  it.  I  disregard  people  sometimes  that  I 
have  patronized  and  flattered.  It  is  not  merely  that  I  have 
changeci  my  opinion  of  them,  but  I  positively  hate  them." 

"  I  hope  you  will  never  hate  me,"  said  Endymion. 

"You  have  never  offended  my  taste  yet,"  said  Lady  Mont- 
fort, with  a  smile. 

Endymion  was  engaged  to  dine  to-day  with  Mr.  Bertie  Tre- 
maine.  Although  now  in  hostile  political  camps,  that  great 
leader  of  men  never  permitted  their  acquaintance  to  cease. 
"  He  is  young,"  reasoned  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine ;  "  every  poli- 
tical party  changes  its  principles  on  an  average  once  in  ten 
years.  Those  who  are  young  must  often  then  form  new  con- 
nections, and  Ferrars  will  then  come  to  me.  He  will  be  ripe 
and  experienced,  and  I  could  give  him  a  good  deal.  I  do  not 
want  numbers;  I  want  men.  In  opposition,  numbers  often 
only  embarrass.  The  power  of  the  future  is  ministerial  ca- 
pacity. The  leader  with  a  cabinet  formed  will  be  the  minister 
of  England.  He  is  not  to  trouble  himself  about  numbers;  that 
is  an  affair  of  the  constituencies." 

Male  dinners  are  in  general  not  amusing.     When  they  are 


372  ENDTMION, 

formed,  as  they  usually  are,  of  men  who  are  supposed  to  pos- 
sess a  strong  and  common  sympath}^ — political,  sporting,  liter- 
ary, military,  social — there  is  necessarily  a  monotony  of  thought 
and  feeling,  and  of  the  materials  which  induce  thought  and 
feeling.  In  a  male  dinner  of  party  politicians  conversation 
soon  degenerates  into  what  is  termed  "  shop  " — anecdotes  about 
divisions,  criticism  of  speeches,  conjectures  about  office,  specu- 
lations on  impending  elections,  and,  above  all,  that  heinous 
subject  on  which  enormous  fibs  are  ever  told,  the  registra- 
tion. There  are,  however,  occasional  glimpses  in  their  talk 
which  would  seem  to  intimate  that  they  have  another  life  out- 
side the  Houses  of  Parliament.  But  that  extenuating  circum- 
stance does  not  apply  to  the  sporting  dinner.  There  they  be- 
gin with  odds  and  handicaps,  and  end  with  handicaps  and  odds, 
and  it  is  doubtful  whether  it  ever  occurs  to  any  one  present 
that  there  is  any  other  existing  combination  of  atoms  except 
odds  and  handicaps.  A  dinner  of  wits  is  proverbially  a  palace 
of  silence;  and  the  envy  and  hatred  which  all  literary  men 
really  feel  for  each  other,  especially  when  they  are  exchanging 
dedications  of  mutual  affection,  always  insure  in  such  assemblies 
the  agreeable  presence. of  a  general  feeling  of  painful  constraint. 
If  a  good  thing  occurs  to  a  guest  he  will  not  express  it,  lest  his 
neighbor,  who  is  publishing  a  novel  in  numbers,  shall  appro- 
priate it  next  month,  or  he  himself,  who  has  the  same  responsi- 
bility of  production,  be  deprived  of  its  legitimate  appearance. 
Those  who  desire  to  learn  something  of  the  manoeuvres  at  the 
Russian  and  Prussian  reviews,  or  the  last  rumor  at  Aldershot 
or  the  military  clubs,  will  know  where  to  find  this  feast  of  rea- 
son. The  flow  of  soul  in  these  male  festivals  is  perhaps,  on 
t?lie  whole,  more  genial  when  found  in  a  society  of  young 
gentlemen,  graduates  of  the  Turf  and  the  Marlborough,  and 
guided  in  their  benignant  studies  by  the  gentle  experience  and 
the  mild  wisdom  of  White's.  The  startling  scandal,  the  rattling 
anecdote,  the  astounding  leaps,  and  the  amazing  shots,  afford 
for  the  moment  a  somewhat  pleasing  distraction ;  but  when  it 
is  discovered  that  all  these  habitual  fiim-fiams  are  in  general 
the  airy  creatures  of  inaccuracy  and  exaggeration — that  the 
scandal  is  not  true,  the  anecdote  has  no  foundation,  and  that 
the  feats  of  skill  and  strength  are  invested  with  the  organic 
weakness  of  tradition,  the  vagaries  lose  something  of  the  charm 
of  novelty,  and  are  almost  as  insipid  as  claret  from  which  the 
bouquet  has  evaporated. 

The  male  dinners  of  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  were  an  excep- 


END  r MI  ON,  373 

tion  to  the  general  reputation  of  such  meetings.  They  were 
never  dull.  In  the  first  place,  though  to  be  known  at  least  by 
reputation  was  an  indispensable  condition  of  being  present,  he 
brought  different  classes  together,  and  this,  at  least  for  once, 
stimulates  and  gratifies  curiosity.  His  house,  too,  was  open  to 
foreigners  of  celebrity,  without  reference  to  their  political 
parties  or  opinions.  Every  one  was  welcome  except  absolute 
assassins.  The  host,  too,  had  studied  the  art  of  developing 
character  and  conversation;  and  if  sometimes  he  was  not  so 
successful  in  this  respect  as  he  deserved,  there  was  no  lack  of 
amusing  entertainment,  for  In  these  social  encounters  Mr, 
Bertie  Tremaine  was  a  reserve  in  himself,  and  if  nobody  else 
would  talk,  he  would  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity  of  pour- 
ing forth  the  treasures  of  his  own  teeming  intelligence.  His 
various  knowledge,  his  power  of  speech,  his  eccentric  paradoxes, 
his  pompous  rhetoric,  relieved  by  some  happy  sarcasm,  and 
the  obvious  sense,  in  all  he  said  and  did,  of  innate  superiority  to 
all  his  guests,  made  these  exhibitions  extremely  amusing. 

"  What  Bertie  Tremaine  will  end  in,"  Endyniion  would 
sometimes  say,  "  perplexes  me.  Had  there  been  no  revolution 
in  1832,  and  he  had  entered  Parliament  for  his  family  borough, 
I  think  he  must  by  this  time  have  been  a  minister.  Such 
tenacity  of  purpose  could  scarcely  fail.  But  he  has  had  to  say 
and  do  so  many  odd  things,  first  to  get  into  Parliament,  and 
secondly  to  keep  there,  that  his  future  now  is  not  so  clear. 
When  I  first  knew  him  he  was  a  Benthamite;  at  present,  I 
sometimes  seem  to  foresee  that  he  will  end  by  being  the  leader 
of  the  Protectionists  and  the  Protestants." 

"  And  a  good  strong  party  too,"  said  Trenchard ; "  but  query 
whether  strong  enough." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  Bertie  Tremaine  is  trying  to  find 
out." 

Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine's  manner  in  receiving  his  guests  was 
courtly  and  ceremonious — a  contrast  to  the  free  and  easy  style 
of  the  time.  But  it  was  adopted  after  due  reflection.  "  No 
man  can  tell  what  will  be  the  position  he  may  be  cal'led  upon 
to  fill.  But  he  has  a  right  to  assume  he  will  always  be  ascend- 
ing. I,  for  example,  may  be  destined  to  be  the  president  of  a  . 
republic,  the  regent  of  a  monarchy,  or  a  sovereign  myself.  It 
would  be  painful  and  disagreeable  to  have  to  change  one's 
manner  at  a  perhaps  advanced  period  of  life,  and  become  liable 
to  the  unpopular  imputation  that  you  had  grown  arrogant  and 
overbearing.     On  the  contrary,  in  my  case,  whatever  my  ele- 


374  END  r MI  ON. 

vation,  there  will  be  no  change.  My  brother,  Mr.  Tremaine 
Bertie,  acts  on  a  different  j^nnciple.  He  is  a  Sybarite,  and  has 
a  general  contempt  for  mankind,  certainly  for  the  mob  and  the 
middle  class,  but  he  is  '  Hail  fellow,  well  met!'  with  them  all. 
He  says  it  answers  at  elections;  I  doubt  it.  I  myself  represent 
a  popular  constituency,  but  I  believe  I  owe  my  success  in  no 
slight  measure  to  the  manner  in  which  I  gave  my  hand  when 
I  permitted  it  to  be  touched.  As  I  say  sometimes  to  Mr.  Tre- 
maine Bertie, '  You  will  find  this  habit  of  social  familiarity  em- 
barrassing when  I  send  you  to  St.  Petersburg  or  Vienna.'  " 

Waldershare  dined  there,  now  a  peer;  though  as  he  rejoiced 
to  say,  not  a  peer  of  Parliament.  An  Irish  peer,  with  an 
English  constituency,  filled,  according  to  Waldershare,  the 
most  enviable  of  positions.  His  rank  gave  him  social  influence, 
and  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons  that  power  which  all 
aspire  to  obtain.  The  cynosure  of  the  banquet,  however,  was 
a  gentleman  who  had,  about  a  year  before,  been  the  president 
of  a  republic  for  nearly  six  weeks;  and  who,  being  master  of  a 
species  of  rhapsodical  rhetoric,  highly  useful  in  troubled  times, 
when  there  is  no  real  business  to  transact,  and  where  there  is 
nobody  to  transact  it,  had  disappeared  when  the  treasury  was 
quite  empty,  and  there  were  no  further  funds  to  reward  the  en- 
thusiastic citizens  who  had  hitherto  patriotically  maintained 
order  at  wages  about  double  in  amount  to  what  they  had  pre- 
viously received  in  their  handicrafts.  This  great  reputation 
had  been  brought  over  by  Mr.  Tremaine  Bertie,  now  introduc- 
ing him  into  English  political  society.  Mr.  Tremaine  Bertie 
hung  upon  the  accents  of  the  oracle,  every  word  of  which  was 
intended  to  be  picturesque  or  profound,  and  then  surveyed  his 
friends  with  a  glance  of  appreciating  wonder.  Sensible  Eng- 
lishmen, like  Endymion  and  Trenchard,  looked  upon  the  whole 
exhibition  as  fustian,  and  received  the  revelations  with  a  smile 
of  frigid  courtesy. 

The  presence,  however,  of  this  celebrity  of  six  weeks  gave 
occasionally  a  tone  of  foreign  politics  to  the  conversation,  and 
the  association  of  ideas,  which  in  due  course  rules  all  talk, 
brought  them,  among  other  incidents  and  instances,  to  the 
remarkable  career  of  King  Florestan. 

"And  yet  he  has  his  mortifications,"  said  a  sensible  man, 
"  He  wants  a  wife,  and  the  princesses  of  the  world  will  not 
furnish  him  with  one." 

"What  authority  have  you  for  saying  so?"  exclaimed  the 
fiery  Waldershare.     "  The  princesses  of  the  world  would  be 


ENDTMION.  375 

great  fools  if  they  refused  such  a  man,  but  I  know  of  no 
authentic  instance  of  such  denial." 

"  Well,  it  is  a  common  rumor." 

"  And  therefore  probably  a  common  falsehood." 

"  Were  he  wise,"  said  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  "  King  Flores- 
tan  would  not  marry.  Dynasties  are  unpopular,  especially  new 
ones.  The  present  age  is  monarchial,  but  not  dynastic.  The 
king,  who  is  a  man  of  reach,  and  who  has  been  pondering  such 
circumstances  all  his  life,  is  probably  well  aware  of  this,  and 
will  not  be  such  a  fool  as  to  marry." 

"  How  is  the  monarchy  to  go  on  if  there  is  to  be  no  successor? " 
inquired  Trenchard.  "  You  would  not  renew  the  Polish  con- 
stitution ? " 

"  The  Polish  constitution,  by-the-by,  was  not  so  bad  a 
thing,"  said  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine.  "  Under  it  a  distinguished 
Englishman  might  have  mixed  with  the  crowned  heads  of 
Europe,  as  Sir  Philip  Sidney  nearly  did.  But  I  was  looking 
to  something  superior  to  the  Polish  constitution,  or  perhaps 
any  other;  I  was  contemplating  a  monarchy  with  the  principle 
of  adoption.  That  would  give  you  all  the  excellence  of  the 
Polish  constitution,  and  the  order  and  constancy  in  which  it 
failed.  It  would  realize  the  want  of  the  age — monarchial,  not 
dynastical,  institutions;  and  it  would  act  independent  of  the 
passions  and  intrigues  of  the  multitude.  The  principle  of 
adoption  was  the  secret  of  the  strength  and  endurance  of  Rome. 
It  gave  Rome  alike  the  Scipios  and  the  Antonines." 

"  A  court  would  be  rather  dull  without  a  woman  at  its 
head." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine.  "  It  was 
Louis  Quatorze  who  made  the  court;  not  his  queen." 

"  Well,"  said  Waldershare, "  all  the  same,  I  fear  King  Flore- 
stan  will  adopt  no  one  in  this  room,  though  he  has  several 
friends  here,  and  I  am  one;  and  I  believe  that  he  will  marry, 
and  I  cannot  help  fancying  the  partner  of  his  throne  will  not 
be  as  insignificant  as  Louis  the  Fourteenth's  wife,  or  Catherine 
of  Braganza." 

Jawett  dined  this  day  with  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine.  He  was 
a  frequent  guest  there  and  still  was  the  editor  of  the  Precur' 
sor^  though  it  sometimes  baffled  all  that  lucidity  of  style  for 
which  he  was  celebrated  to  reconcile  the  conduct  of  the  party 
of  which  the  Precursor  was  alike  the  oracle  and  organ  with 
the  opinions  with  which  that  now  well-established  journal  first 
attempted  to  direct  and  illuminate  the  public  mind.     It  seemed 


376  ENDTMION, 

to  the  editor  that  the  Precursor  dwelt  more  on  the  pant  than 
became  a  harbinger  of  the  future.  Not  that  Mr.  Bertie  Tre- 
maine  ever  for  a  moment  admitted  that  there  was  any  diffi- 
culty in  any  case.  He  never  permitted  any  dogmas  that  he 
had  ever  enunciated  to  be  surrendered,  however  contrary  at 
their  first  aspect. 

"  All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole," 
and  few  things  were  more  interesting  than  the  conferences  in 
which  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  had  to  impart  his  views  and  in- 
structions to  the  master  of  that  lucid  style  which  had  the  merit 
of  making  everything  so  very  clear  when  the  master  himself 
was,  as  at  present,  extremely  perplexed  and  confused.  Jawett 
lingered  after  the  other  guests  that  he  might  have  the  advan- 
tage of  consulting  the  great  leader  on  the  course  which  he 
ought  to  take  in  advocating  a  measure  which  seemed  com- 
pletely at  variance  with  all  the  principles  they  had  ever  upheld. 

"  I  do  not  see  your  difficulty,"  wound  up  the  host.  "  Your 
case  is  clear.  You  have  a  principle  which  will  carry  you 
through  everything.  That  is  the  charm  of  a  principle.  You 
have  always  an  answer  ready." 

"  But  in  this  case,"  somewhat  timidly  inquired  Mr.  Jawett, 
"what  would  be  the  principle  on  which  I  should  rest?" 

"  You  must  show,"  said  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  "  that  dem- 
ocracy is  aristocracy  in  disguise,  and  that  aristocracy  is  dem- 
ocracy in  disguise.     It  will  carry  you  through  everything." 

Even  Jawett  looked  a  Httle  amazed. 

"But" —  he  was  beginning,  when  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine 
arose.  "  Think  of  what  I  have  said,  and  if  on  reflection  any 
doubt  or  difficulty  remain  in  your  mind  call  on  me  to-morrow 
before  I  go  to  the  House.  At  present  I  must  pay  my  respects 
to  Lady  Beaumaris.  She  is  the  only  woman  the  Tories  can 
boast  of;  but  she  is  a  first-rate  woman,  and  is  a  power  which  I 
must  secure." 


CHAPTER  XCn. 

A  month  had  nearly  elapsed  since  the  Montfort  ball;  the 
season  was  over  and  the  session  nearly  finished.  The  pressure 
of  parliamentary  life  for  those  in  office  is  extreme  during  this 
last  month,  yet  Endymion  would  have  contrived,  were  it  only 
for  a  day,  to  have  visited  his  sister  had  Lady  Roehampton 
much  encouraged   his  appearance.     Strange  as   it  seemed  to 


END  I'M! ON.  377 

him  she  did  not,  but,  on  the  contrary,  always  assumed  that  the 
prorogation  of  ParHament  would  alone  bring  them  together 
again.  When  he  proposed  on  one  occasion  to  come  down  for 
four-and-twenty  hours,  she  absolutely,  though  with  much  affec- 
tion, adjourned  the  fulfilment  of  the  offer.  It  seemed  that  she 
was  not  yet  quite  settled. 

Lady  Montfort  lingered  in  London  even  after  Goodwood. 
She  was  rather  embarrassed,  as  she  told  Endymion,  about  her 
future  plans.  Lord  Montfort  was  at  Princedown,  where  she 
wished  to  join  him,  but  he  did  not  respond  to  her  wishes;  on 
the  contrary,  while  announcing  that  he  was  indisposed  and 
meant  to  remain  at  Princedown  for  the  summer,  he  suggested 
that  she  should  avail  herself  of  the  opportunity  and  pay  a  long 
visit  to  her  family  in  the  North.  "  I  know  what  he  means," 
she  observed ;  "  he  wants  the  world  to  believe  that  we  are 
separated.  He  cannot  repudiate  me;  he  is  too  great  a  gentle- 
man to  do  anything  coarsely  unjust;  but  he  thinks  by  tact  and 
indirect  means  he  may  attain  our  vnlual  separation.  He  has  had 
this  purpose  for  years,  I  believe  now  ever  since  our  marriage, 
but  hitherto  I  have  baffled  him.  I  ought  to  be  with  him;  I 
really  believe  he  is  indisposed,  his  face  has  become  so  pale  of 
late;  but  were  I  to  persist  in  going  to  Princedown  I  should 
only  drive  him  away.  He  would  go  off  in  the  night  without 
leaving  his  address,  and  something  would  happen — dreadful  or 
absurd.  What  I  had  best  do,  I  think,  is  this.  You  are  going 
at  last  to  pay  your  visit  to  your  sister;  I  will  write  to  my 
lord  and  tell  him  that  as  he  does  not  wish  me  to  go  to  Prince- 
down I  propose  to  go  to  Montfort  Castle.  When  the  flag  is 
flying  at  Montfort  I  can  pay  a  visit  of  any  length  to  my  family. 
It  will  only  be  a  neighboring  visit  from  Montfort  to  them; 
perhaps,  too,  they  might  return  it.  At  any  rate, then  they  can- 
not say  my  lord  and  I  are  separated.  We  need  'not  live  under 
the  same  roof,  but  so  long  as  I  live  under  his  roof  the  world  con- 
siders us  united.  It  is  a  pity  to  have  to  scheme  in  this  manner, 
and  rather  degrading,  particularly  when  one  might  be  so  happy 
with  him.  But  you  know,  my  dear  Endymion,  all  about  our 
affairs.  Your  friend  is  not  a  very  happy  woman,  and  if  not  a 
very  unhappy  one,  it  is  owing  much  to  your  dear  friendship, 
and  a  little  to  my  own  spirit,  which  keeps  me  up  -under  what 
is  frequent  and  sometimes  bitter  mortification.  And  now 
adieu!  I  suppose  you  cannot  be  away  less  than  a  week. 
Probably  on  your  return  you  will  find  me  here.  I  cannot  go 
to  Montfort  without  his  permission.     But  he  will  give  it.     I 


S^\^^ 


378  BNDTMION, 

observe  that  he  will  always  do  anything  to  gain  his  immediate 
object.  His  immediate  object  is  that  I  shall  not  go  to  Prince- 
down,  and  so  he  will  agree  that  I  shall  go  to  Montfort." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Endymion  felt  some  constraint 
in  the  presence  of  Myra.  There  was  something  changed  in 
her  manner.  No  diminution  of  affection,  for  she  threw  her 
arms  around  him  and  pressed  him  to  her  heart;  and  then  she 
looked  at  him  anxiously,  even  sadly,  and  kissed  both  his  eyes, 
and  then  she  remained  for  some  moments  in  silence  with  her 
face  hid  on  his  shoulder.  Never  since  the  loss  of  Lord  Roe- 
hampton  had  she  seemed  so  subdued. 

"  It  is  a  long  separation,"  she  at  length  said,  with  a  voice  and 
smile  equally  faint,  "  and  you  must  be  a  little  wearied  with 
your  travelling.  Come  and  refresh  yourself,  and  then  I  will 
show  you  my  boudoir  I  have  made  here,  rather  pretty,  out  of 
nothing.  And  then  we  w^ill  sit  down  and  have  a  long  talk 
together,  for  I  have  much  to  tell  you,  and  I  want  your  advice." 

"  She  is  going  to  marry  Sidney  Wilton,"  thought  Endymion, 
"that  is  clear." 

The  boudoir  was  really  pretty,  "  made  out  of  nothing;"  a 
gay  chintz,  some  shelves  of  beautiful  books,  some  fanciful 
chairs,  and  a  portrait  of  Lord  Roehampton. 

It  was  a  long  interview,  very  long,  and,  if  one  could  judge 
by  the  countenance  of  Endymion,  when  he  quitted  the  boudoir 
and  hastened  to  his  room,  of  grave  import.  Sometimes  his 
face  was  j^ale,  sometimes  scarlet;  the  changes  were  rapid,  but 
the  expression  was  agitated  rather  than  one  of  gratification. 

He  sent  instantly  for  his  servant,  and  then  penned  this  tele- 
gram to  Lady  Montfort.  "  My  visit  here  will  be  short.  I  am 
to  see  you  immediately.  Nothing  must  prevent  your  being  at 
home  when  I  call  to-morrow,  about  four  o'clock.  Most,  most 
important." 


CHAPTER  XCIIL 

"  Well,  something  has  happened  at  last,"  said  Lady  Mont- 
fort with  a  wondering  countenance;  "it  is  too  marvellous!" 

"She  goes  to  Osborne  to-day,"  continued  Endymion,  "and  I 
suppose  after  that,  in  due  course,  it  will  be  generally  known. 
I  should  think  the  formal  announcement  would  be  made  abroad. 
It  has  been  kept  wonderfully  close.  She  wished  you  to  know 
it  first,  at  least  from  her.     I  do  not  think  slie  ever  hesitated 


END  r MI  ON,  379 

about  accepting  him.  There  was  delay  from  various  causes; 
whether  there  should  be  a  marriaj^e  by  proxy  first  in  this 
country,  and  other  points;  about  religion  for  example." 

"Well?" 

"  She  enters  the  Catholic  Church,  the  Archbishop  of  Tyre 
has  received  her.  There  is  no  difficulty  and  no  great  cere- 
monies in  such  matters.  She  was  rebaptized,  but  only  by  way 
of  precaution.  It  was  not  necessary,  for  our  orders,  you  know, 
are  recognized  by  Rome." 

"  And  that  was  all ! " 

"  All,  with  a  first  communion  and  confession.  It  is  an  con- 
summated now;  "as  you  say,  'it  is  too  wonderful.'  A  first 
confession,  and  to  Nigel  Penruddock,  who  says  life  is  flat  and 
insipid ! " 

"I  shall  write  to  her;  I  must  write  to  her.  I  wonder  if  I 
shall  see  her  before  she  departs." 

"  That  is  certain  if  you  wish  it;  she  wishes  it." 

"  And  when  does  she  go?     And  who  goes  with  her?" 

"  She  will  be  under  my  charge,"  said  Endymion.  "  It  is  for- 
tunate that  it  should  happen  at  a  time  when  I  am  free.  I  am 
personally  to  deliver  her  to  the  king.  The  Duke  of  St. 
Angelo,  Baron  Sergius,  and  the  archbishop  accompany  her, 
and  Waldershare,  at  the  particular  request  of  his  Majesty." 

"And  no  lady?" 

"  She  takes  Adriana  with  her." 

"  Adriana !"  repeated  Lady  Montfort,  and  a  cloud  passed 
over  her  brow.  There  was  a  momentary  pause,  and  then 
Lady  Montfort  said,  "  I  wish  she  would  take  me." 

"  That  would  be  delightful,"  said  Endymion,  "  and  most  be- 
coming— to  have  for  a  companion  the  greatest  lady  of  our 
court." 

"  She  will  not  take  me  with  her,"  said  Lady  Montfort,  sor- 
rowfully but  decisively,  and  shaking  her  head.  "  Dear 
woman!  I  loved  her  always,  often  most  when  I  seemed  least 
affectionate — but  there  was  between  us  something — "  and  she 
hesitated.  "Heigho!  I  may  be  the  greatest  lady  of  our 
court,  but  I  am  a  very  unhappy  woman,  Endymion,  and  what 
annoys  and  dispirits  me  most,  sometimes  quite  breaks  me 
down,  is  that  I  cannot  see  that  I  deserve  my  lot." 

It  happened  as  Endymion  foresaw;  the  first  announcement 
came  from  abroad.  King  Florestan  suddenly  sent  a  message 
to  his  Parliament  that  his  Majesty  was  about  to  present  them 
with  a  queen.     She  was  not  the  daughter  of  a  reigning  house. 


380  END  r MI  ON. 

but  she  came  from  the  land  of  freedom  and  poMtical  wisdom, 
and  from  the  purest  and  most  powerful  court  in  Europe.  His 
subjects  soon  learned  that  she  was  the  most  beautiful  of  womeiT, 
for  the  portrait  of  the  Countess  of  Roehampton,  as  it  were  by 
magic,  seemed  suddenly  to  fill  every  window  in  every  shop  in 
the  teeming  and  brilliant  capital  where  she  was  about  to  reign." 

It  was  convenient  that  these  great  events  should  occur  when 
everybody  was  out  of  town.  Lady  Montfort  alone  remained, 
the  frequent,  if  not  constant,  companion  of  the  new  sovereign. 
Berengaria  soon  recovered  her  high  spirits.  There  was  much 
to  do  and  prepare  in  which  her  hints  and  advice  were  invalu- 
able. Though  she  was  not  to  have  the  honor  of  attending 
Myra  to  her  new  home,  which,  considering  her  high  place  in 
the  English  court,  was  perhaps  hardly  consistent  with  eti- 
quette, for  so  she  now  cleverly  put  it,  she  was  to  pay  her 
Majesty  a  visit  in  due  time.  The  momentary  despondency 
that  had  clouded  her  brilliant  countenance  had  not  only  disap- 
peared, but  she  had  quite  forgotten,  and  certainly  would  not 
admit,  that  she  was  anything  but  the  most  sanguine  and  ener- 
getic of  beings,  and  rallied  Endymion  unmercifully  for  his 
careworn  countenance  and  too  frequent  air  of  depression. 
The  truth  is,  the  great  change  that  was  impending  was  one 
which  might  well  make  him  serious,  and  sometimes  sad. 

The  withdrawal  of  a  female  influence  so  potent  on  his  life  as 
that  of  his  sister  was  itself  a  great  event.  There  had  been  be- 
tween them  from  the  cradle,  which,  it  may  be  said,  they  had 
shared,  a  strong  and  perfect  sympathy.  They  had  experienced 
together  vast  and  strange  vicissitudes  of  life.  Though  much 
separated  in  his  early  youth,  there  had  still  been  a  constant  in- 
terchange of  thought  and  feeling  between  them.  For  the  last 
twelve  years  or  so,  ever  since  Myra  had  become  acquainted 
with  the  Nauchatel  family,  they  may  be  said  never  to  have 
separated — at  least  they  had  maintained  a  constant  communi- 
cation, and  generally  a  personal  one.  She  had  in  a  great 
degree  moulded  his  life.  Her  unfaltering,  though  often  unseen, 
influence  had  created  his  advancement.  Her  will  was  more 
powerful  than  his.  He  was  more  prudent  and  plastic.  He 
felt  this  keenly.  He  was  conscious  that,  left  to  himself,  he 
would  probably  have  achieved  much  less.  He  remembered 
her  words  when  they  parted  for  the  first  time  at  Hurstley, 
"  Women  will  be  your  best  friends  in  life."  And  that  brought 
his  thoughts  to  the  only  subject  on  which  they  had  ever  dif- 
fered— her   wished-for  union  between    himself  and  Adriana. 


ENDTMION,  381 

He  felt  he  had  crossed  her  there — that  he  had  prevented  the 
fulfihnent  of  her  deeply  matured  plans.  Perhaps,  had  that 
marriage  taken  place,  she  would  never  have  quitted  England. 
Perhaps;  but  was  that  desirable?  Was  it  not  fitter  that  so 
lofty  a  spirit  should  find  a  seat  as  exalted  as  her  capacity? 
Myra  was  a  sovereign!  In  this  age  of  strange  events,  not  the 
least  strange.  No  petty  cares  and  griefs  must  obtrude  them- 
selves in  such  majestic  associations.  And  yet  the  days  at  Hain- 
ault  were  very  happy,  and  the  bright  visits  to  Gaydene,  and 
her  own  pleasant  though  stately  home.  His  heart  was  agi- 
tated, and  his  eyes  were  often  moistened  with  emotion.  He 
seemed  to  think  that  all  the  thrones  of  Christendom  could  be 
no  compensation  for  the  loss  of  this  beloved  genius  of  his  life, 
whom  he  might  never  see  again.  Sometimes,  when  he  paid 
his  daily  visit  to  Berengaria,  she,  who  knew  him  by  heart,  who 
studied  every  expression  of  his  countenance  and  every  tone  of 
his  voice,  would  say  to  him,  after  a  few  minutes  of  desultory 
and  feeble  conversation,  "You  are  thinking  of  your  sister, 
Endymion?" 

He  did  not  reply,  but  gave  a  sort  of  faint,  mournful  smile. 

"  This  separation  is  a  trial,  a  severe  one,  and  I  knew  you 
would  feel  it,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "I  feel  it;  I  loved  your 
sister,  but  she  did  not  love  me.  Nobody  that  I  love  ever  does 
love  me." 

"  Oh !  do  not  say  that  Lady  Montfort." 

"  It  is  what  I  feel.  I  cannot  console  you.  There  is  nothmg 
I  can  do  for  you.  My  friendship,  if  you  value  it,  which  I  will 
not  doubt  you  do,  you  fully  possessed  before  your  sister  was  a 
queen.     So  that  goes  for  nothing." 

"  I  must  say  I  feel  sometimes  most  miserable." 

"  Nonsense,  Endymion ;  if  anything  could  annoy  your  sister 
more  than  another,  it  would  be  to  hear  of  such  feelings  on  your 
part.  I  must  say  she  has  courage.  She  has  found  her  fitting 
place.  Her  brother  ought  to  do  the  same.  You  have  a  great 
object  in  life,  at  least  you  had,  but  I  have  no  faith  in  sentiment- 
alists. If  I  had  been  sentimental,  I  should  have  gone  into  a 
convent  long  ago." 

"  If  to  feel  is  to  be  sentimental,  I  cannot  help  it." 

"  All  feeling  which  has  no  object  to  attain  is  morbid  and 
maudlin,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "You  say  you  are  very 
miserable,  and  at  the  same  time  you  do  not  know  what  you 
want.  Would  you  have  your  sister  dethroned  ?  And  if  you 
would,  could  you  accomplish  your  purpose?     Well,  then,  what 


382  END2^MI0N. 

nonsense  to  think  about  her  except  to  feel  proud  of  her  eleva- 
tion, and  prouder  still  that  she  is  equal  to  it." 

"  You  always  have  the  best  of  every  argument,"  said 
Endymion. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "  What  I  v^ant  you  to 
do  is  to  exert  yourself.  You  have  now  a  strong  social  position, 
for  Sidney  Wilton  tells  me  the  queen  has  relinquished  to  you 
her  mansion  and  the  whole  of  her  income,  which  is  no  mean 
one.  You  must  collect  your  friends  about  you.  Our  govern- 
ment is  not  too  strong,  I  can  tell  you.  We  must  brush  up  in 
the  recess.  What  with  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  and  his  friends 
joining  the  Protectionists,  and  the  ultra-Radicals  wanting,  as 
they  always  do,  something  impossible,  I  see  seeds  of  discom- 
fiture unless  they  are  met  with  energy.  You  stand  high,  and 
are  well  spoken  of  even  by  our  opponents.  Whether  we  stand 
or  fall,  it  is  a  moment  for  you  to  increase  your  personal  influ- 
ence. That  is  the  element  now  to  encourage  in  your  career, 
because  you  are  not  like  the  old  fogies  in  the  cabinet,  who,  if 
they  go  out,  will  never  enter  another  again.  You  have  a 
future,  and  though  you  may  not  be  an  emperor,  you  may  be 
what  I  esteem  more,  prime- minister  of  this  country." 

"  You  are  always  so  sanguine." 

"  Not  more  sanguine  than  your  sister.  Often  we  have 
talked  of  this.  I  wish  she  were  here  to  help  us,  but  I  will  do 
my  part.     At  present  let  us  go  to  luncheon." 


CHAPTER  XCIV. 

There  was  a  splendid  royal  yacht,  though  not  one  belong- 
ing to  our  gracious  Sovereign,  lying  in  one  of  her  Majesty's 
southern  ports,  and  the  yacht  was  convoyed  by  a  smart  frigate. 
The  crews  were  much  ashore,  and  were  very  popular,  for  they 
spent  a  great  deal  of  money.  Everybody  knew  what  was  the 
purpose  of  their  bright  craft,  and  every  one  was  interested  in 
it.  A  beautiful  Englishwoman  had  been  selected  to  fill  a  for- 
eign and  brilliant  throne  occcpied  by  a  prince  who  had  been 
educated  in  our  own  country,  who  ever  avowed  his  sympa- 
thies with  "  the  inviolate  island  of  the  sage  and  free."  So  in 
fact  there  was  some  basis  for  the  enthusiasm  which  was  felt  on 
this  occasion  by  the  inhabitants  of  Nethampton.  What  every 
one  wanted  to  know  was  when  she  would  sail.  Ah !  that  was 
a  secret,  still  a  secret  that  could  hardly  be  kept  for  the  eight- 


ENDTMION.  383 

and-torty  hours  preceding  her  departure,  and,  therefore,  one 
day,  with  no  formal  notice,  all  the  inhabitants  of  Nethampton 
were  in  gala;  streets  and  ships  dressed  out  with  the  flags  of  all 
nations;  the  church  bells  ringing;  and  busy  little  girls  running 
about  with  huge  bouquets. 

At  the  very  instant  expected,  the  special  train  was  signalled, 
and  dro\'e  into  the  crimson  station  amid  the  thunder  of  artillery, 
the  blare  of  trumpets,  the  beating  of  drums,  and  cheers  from 
thousands  even  louder  and  longer  than  the  voices  of  the  can- 
non. Leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  brother,  and  attended  by  the 
Princess  of  Montserrat  and  the  Honorable  Adriana  Neu- 
chatel.  Baron  Sergius,  the  Duke  of  St.  Angelo,  the  Archbishop 
of  Tyre,  and  Lord  Waldershare,  the  daughter  of  William 
Ferrars,  gracious,  yet  looking  as  if  she  were  born  to  empire, 
received  the  congratulatory  address  of  the  mayor  and  corpora- 
tion and  citizens  of  Nethampton,  and  permitted  her  hand  to 
be  kissed,  not  only  by  his  worship,  but  by  at  least  two 
aldermen. 

They  were  on  the  waters,  and  the  shores  of  Albion,  fast 
fading  away,  had  diminished  to  a  speck.  It  is  a  melancholy 
and  tender  moment,  and  Myra  was  in  her  ample  and  splendid 
cabin  and  alone.  "  It  is  a  trial,"  she  felt,  "  but  all  that  I  lo^^e  and 
value  in  this  world  are  in  this  vessel,"  and  she  thought  of 
Endymlon  and  Adriana.  The  gentlemen  were  on  deck,  chiefly 
smoking  or  reconnoitring  their  convoy  through  their  telescopes. 

"  I  must  say,"  said  Waldershare,  "  it  was  a  grand  idea  of  our 
kings  making  themselves  sovereigns  of  the  sea.  The  greater 
portion  of  this  planet  is  water;  so  we  at  once  became  a  first-rate 
power.  We  owe  our  navy  entirely  to  the  Stuarts.  King 
James  the  Second  was  the  true  founder  and  hero  of  the  British 
navy.  He  was  the  worthy  son  of  his  admirable  father,  that 
blessed  martyr,  the  restorer,  at  least,  if  not  the  inventor,  of  ship- 
money;  the  most  patriotic  and  popular  tax  that  ever  was 
devised  by  man.  The  Non-conformists  thought  themselves  so 
wise  in  resisting  it,  and  they  have  got  the  naval  estimates 
instead ! " 

The  voyage  was  propitious,  the  weather  delightful,  and 
when  they  had  entered  the  southern  waters,  Waldershare  con- 
fessed that  he  felt  the  deliciousness  of  life.  If  the  scene  and  the 
impending  events,  and  their  own  fair  thoughts  had  not  been 
adequate  to  interest  them,  there  were  ample  resources  at  their 
comriiand;  all  the  ladies  were  skilled  musicians,  their  concerts 


384  ENDTMION, 

commenced  at  sunset,  and  the  sweetness  of  their  voices  long 
lingered  over  the  moon-lit  vs^aters. 

Adriana,  one  evening,  bending  over  the  bulwarks  of  the 
yacht,  was  watching  the  track  of  phosphoric  light,  struck 
into  brilliancy  from  the  dark-blue  waters  by  the  prow  of  their 
rapid  vessel.  "  It  is  a  fascinating  sight,  Miss  Neuchatel,  and  it 
seems  one  might  gaze  on  it  forever." 

"  Ah !  Lord  Waldershare,  you  caught  me  in  a  reverie." 

"What  more  sweet?" 

"  Well,  that  depends  on  its  subject.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was 
thinking  that  these  lights  resembled  a  little  your  conversation; 
all  the  wondrous  things  you  are  always  saying  or  telling  us." 

The  archbishop  was  a  man  who  never  recurred  to  the  past. 
One  never  could  suppose  that  Endymion  and  himself  had  been 
companions  in  their  early  youth,  or,  so  far  as  their  intercourse 
was  concerned,  that  there  was  such  a  place  in  the  world  as 
Hurstley.  One  night,  however,  as  they  were  pacing  the  deck 
together,  he  took  the  arm  of  Endymion,  and  said,  "  I  trace  the 
hand  of  Providence  in  every  incident  of  your  sister's  life. 
What  we  deemed  misfortunes,  sorrows,  even  calamities,  were 
forming  a  character  originally  endowed  with  supreme  will,  and 
destined  for  the  highest  purposes.  There  was  a  moment  at 
Hurstley  when  I  myself  was  crushed  to  the  earth,  and  cared 
not  to  live;  vain,  short-sighted  mortal!  Our  Great  Master 
was  at  that  moment  shaping  everything  to  his  ends,  and  pre- 
paring for  the  entrance  into  his  Church  of  a  woman  who  may 
be,  who  will  be,  I  believe,  another  St.  Helena." 

"  We  have  not  spoken  of  this  subject  before,"  said  Endym- 
ion, "  and  I  should  not  have  cared  had  our  silence  continued, 
but  I  must  now  tell  you  frankly,  the  secession  of  my  sister  from 
the  Church  of  her  fathers  was  to  me  by  no  means  a  matter  of 
unmixed  satisfaction." 

"The  time  will  come  when  you  will  recognize  it  as  the  con- 
summation of  a  Divine  plan,"  said  the  archbishop. 

"I  feel  great  confidence  that  my  sister  will  never  be  the 
slave  of  superstition,"  said  Endymion.  "  Her  mind  is  too  mas- 
culine for  that;  she  will  remember  that  the  throne  she  fills  has 
been  already   once    lost  by  the  fatal  influence  of  the  Jesuits." 

"  The  influence  of  the  Jesuits  is  the  influence  of  Divine 
truth,"  said  his  companion.  "  And  how  is  it  possible  for  such 
influence  not  to  prevail?  What  you  treat  as  defeats,  discom- 
fitures, are  events  which  you  do  not  comprehend.  They  are 
incidents   all  leading   to   one  great  end — the  triumph  of  the 


ENDTMION.  385 

Church — that  is,  the  triumph  of  God.  I  will  not  decide  what 
are  great  ends;  I  am  content  to  ascertain  what  is  wise  conduct. 
And  it  would  not  be  wise  conduct,  in  my  opinion,  for  the  king 
to  rest  upon  the  Jesuits." 

"  The  Jesuits  never  fell  except  from  conspiracy  against  them. 
It  is  never  the  public  voice  that  demands  their  expulsion  or  the 
public  eftbrt  that  accomplishes  it.  It  is  always  the  affair  of 
sovereigns  and  statesmen,  of  politicians,  of  men,  in  short,  who 
feel  that  there  is  a  power  at  work,  and  that  power  one  not 
favorable  to  their  schemes  or  objects  of  government." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  Endymion;  "  I  candidly  tell  you 
I  hope  the  Jesuits  will  have  as  little  influence  in  my  brother-in- 
law's  kingdom  as  in  my  own  country." 

"  As  little,"  said  Nigel,  somewhat  sarcastically,  "  I  should  be 
almost  content  if  the  holy  order  in  every  country  had  as  much 
mfluence  as  they  now  have  in  England." 

"  I  think  your  grace  exaggerates." 

"  Before  two  years  are  past,"  said  the  archbishop,  speaking 
very  slowly,  "  I  foresee  that  the  Jesuits  will  be  privileged  in 
England,  and  the  hierarchy  of  our  Church  recognized." 

It  was  a  delicious  afternoon ;  it  had  been  sultry,  but  the  sun 
had  now  greatly  declined,  when  the  captain  of  the  yacht  came 
down  to  announce  to  the  queen  that  they  were  in  sight  of  her 
new  country,  and  she  hastened  on  deck  to  behold  the  rapidly 
nearing  shore.  A  squadron  of  ships-of-war  had  stood  out  to 
meet  her,  and  in  due  time  the  towers  and  spires  of  a  beautiful 
city  appeared,  which  was  the  port  of  the  capital,  and  itself 
almost  worthy  of  being  one.  A  royal  barge,  propelled  by 
four-and-twenty  rowers,  and  bearing  the  lord-chamberlain, 
awaited  the  queen,  and  the  moment  her  Majesty  and  the 
Princess  of  Montserrat  had  taken  their  seats,  salutes  thundered 
from  every  ship-of-war,  responded  to  by  fort  and  battery 
ashore. 

When  they  landed,  they  were  conducted  by  chief  officers  of 
the  court  to  a  pavilion  which  faced  the  western  sky,  now  glow- 
ing like  an  opal  with  every  shade  of  the  Iris,  and  then  becom- 
ing of  a  light  green  color  varied  only  by  some  slight  clouds 
burnished  with  gold.  A  troop  of  maidens  brought  flowers  as 
bright  as  themselves,  and  then  a  company  of  pages  advanced, 
and  kneeling,  offered  to  the  queen  chocolate  in  a  crystal  cup. 

According  to  the  programme  drawn  up  by  the  heralds,  and 
every  tittle  of  it  founded  on  precedents,  the  king  and  the  royal 
carriages  were  to  have  met  the  travellers  on  their  arrival  at  the 


386  ENDTMION, 

metropolis;  but  there  are  feelings  which  heralds  do  not  com- 
prehend, and  which  defy  precedents.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
shout,  a  loud  cheer,  a  louder  salute*  Some  one  had  arrived  un- 
expectedly. A  young  man,  stately  but  pale,  moved  through 
the  swiftly  receding  crowd,  alone  and  unattended,  entered  the 
pavilion,  advanced  to  the  queen,  kissed  her  hand,  and  then  both 
her  cheeks,  just  murmuring,  "  My  best  beloved,  this,  this  in- 
deed is  joy." 

The  capital  was  fortified,  and  the  station  was  without  the 
walls ;  here  the  royal  carriages  awaited  them.  The  crowd  was 
immense;  the  ramparts  on  this  occasion  were  covered  with 
people.  It  was  an  almost  sultry  night,  with  every  star  visible, 
and  clear  and  warm  and  sweet.  As  the  royal  carriage  crossed 
the  drawbridge  and  entered  the  chief  gates,  the  whole  city  vv^as 
in  an  instant  suddenly  illuminated — in  a  flash.  The  architec- 
tural lines  of  the  city  walls,  and  of  every  street,  were  indicated, 
and  along  the  ramparts  at  not  distant  intervals  were  tripods, 
each  crowned  with  a  silver  flame,  which  cast  around  the  radi- 
ance of  day. 

He  held  and  pressed  her  hand  as  in  silence  she  beheld  the 
wondrous  scene.  They  had  to  make  a  progress  of  some  miles; 
the  way  was  kept  throughout  by  soldiery  and  civic  guards, 
while  beyond  them  was  an  infinite  population,  all  cheering 
and  many  of  them  waving  torches.  They  passed  through 
many  streets,  and  squares  with  marvellous  fountains,  until  they 
arrived  at  the  chief  and  royal  street,  which  has  no  equal  in  the 
world.  It  is  more  than  a  mile  long,  never  swerving  from  a 
straight  line,  broad,  yet  the  houses  so  elevated  that  they  gener- 
ally furnished  the  shade  this  ardent  clime  requires.  The 
architecture  of  this  street  is  so  varied  that  it  never  becomes 
monotonous,  some  beautiful  church  or  palace  or  ministerial 
hotel  perpetually  Varying  the  effect.  All  the  windows  were 
full  on  this  occasion,  and  even  the  roofs  were  crowded.  Every 
house  was  covered  with  tapestry,  and  the  line  of  every  build- 
ing was  marked  out  by  artificial  light.  The  moon  rose,  but 
she  was  not  wanted;  it  was  as  light  as  day. 

They  were  considerate  enough  not  to  move  too  rapidly 
through  this  heart  of  the  metropolis,  and  even  halted  at  some 
stations,  where  bands  of  music  and  choirs  of  singers  welcomed 
and  celebrated  them.  They  moved  on  more  quickly  after- 
wards, made  their  way  through  a  pretty  suburb,  and  then  en- 
tered a  park.  At  the  termination  of  a  long  avenue  was  the 
illumined  and  beautiful  palace   of  the  Prince   of  Montserrat, 


ENDTMION.  387 

where  Myra  was  to  reside  and  repose  until  the  momentous 
morrow,  when  King  Florestan  was  publicly  to  place  on  the 
brow  of  his  affianced  bride  the  crown  which,  to  his  joy,  she 
had  consented  to  share. 


CHAPTER  XCV. 

There  are  vei»y  few  temperaments  that  can  resist  a  uni- 
versal and  unceasing  festival  in  a  vast  and  beautiful  metropolis. 
It  is  inebriating,  and  the  most  wonderful  of  all  its  accidents  is 
how  the  population  can  ever  calm  and  recur  to  the  monotony 
of  ordinary  life.  When  all  this  happens,  too,  in  a  capital 
blessed  with  purple  skies,  where  the  moonlight  is  equal  to  our 
sunshine,  and  where  half  the  population  sleep  in  the  open  air 
and  wish  for  no  roof  but  the  heavens,  existence  is  a  dream  of 
fantasy  and  perpetual  loveliness,  and  one  is  at  last  forced  to  be- 
lieve that  there  is  some  miraculous  and  supernatural  agency 
that  provides  the  ever-enduring  excitement  and  ceaseless  inci- 
dents of  grace  and  beauty. 

After  the  great  ceremony  of  the  morrow  in  the  cathedral, 
and  when  Myra,  kneeling  at  the  altef  with  her  husband,  re- 
ceived, under  a  canopy  of  silver  brocade,  the  blessings  of  a 
cardinal  and  her  people,  day  followed  day  with  court  balls  and 
municipal  banquets,  state  visits  to  operas,  and  reviews  of  sump- 
tuous troops.  At  length  the  end  of  all  this  pageanty  and  en- 
thusiasm approached,  and,  amidst  a  blaze  of  fireworks,  the 
picturesque  population  of  this  fascinating  city  tried  to  return  to 
ordinary  feeling  and  to  common-sense. 

If  amidst  this  graceful  hubbub  and  this  glittering  riot,  any 
one  could  have  found  time  to  remark  the  carriage  and  conduct 
of  an  individual,  one  might  have  observed,  and  perhaps  been 
surprised  at,  the  change  in  those  of  Miss  Neuchatel.  That  air 
of  pensive  resignation  which  distinguished  her  seemed  to  have 
vanished.  She  never  wore  that  doleful  look  for  which  she  was 
too  remarkable  in  London  saloons,  and  which  marred  a  counten- 
ance favored  by  nature  and  a  form  intended  for  gayety  and 
grace.  Perhaps  it  was  the  influence  of  the  climate,  perhaps 
the  excitement  of  the  scene,  perhaps  some  rapture  with  the 
wondrous  fortunes  of  the  friend  whom  she  adored,  but  Adriana 
seemed  suddenly  to  sympathize  with  everybody  and  to 
appreciate  everything;  her  face  was  radiant,  she  was  in  every 
dance,  and  visited  churches  and  museums,  and  palaces  and  gal- 


388  ENDTMION. 

leries,  with  keen  delight.  With  many  charms,  the  intimate 
friend  of  their  sovereign,  and  herself  known  to  be  noble  and 
immensely  rich,  Adria-na  became  the  fashion,  and  a  crowd  of 
princes  were  ever  watching  her  smiles,  and  sometimes  offering 
her  their  sighs. 

"  I  think  you  enjoy  our  visit  more  than  any  one  of  us,"  said 
Endymion  t6  her  one  da^,  with  some  feeling  of  surprise. 

"  Well,  one  cannot  mope  forever,"  said  Miss  Neuchatel ;  "  I 
have  passed  my  life  in  thinking  of  one  subject,  and  I  feel  now 
it  made  me  very  stupid." 

Endymion  felt  embarassed,  and,  though  generally  ready, 
had  no  repartee  at  command.  Lord  Waldershare,  however, 
came  to  his  relief,  and  claimed  Adriana  for  the  impending 
dance. 

This  wondrous  marriage  was  a  grand  subject  for  "  our  own 
correspondents,"  and  they  abounded.  Among  them  were 
Jawett  and  St.  Barbe.  St.  Barbe  hated  Jawett,  as  indeed  he 
did  all  his  brethren,  but  his  appointment  in  this  instance  he  de- 
nounced as  an  infamous  job.  "  Merely  to  allow  him  to  travel 
in  foreign  parts,  which  he  has  never  done,  without  a  single 
qualification  for  the  office.  However,  it  will  ruin  his  paper, 
that  is  some  consolation.  Fancy  sending  here  a  man  who  has 
never  used  his  pen  except  about  those  dismal  statistics,  and 
what  he  calls  first  principles,  I  hate  his  style,  so  neat  and 
frigid.  No  color,  sir.  I  hate  his  short  sentences,  like  a  dog 
barking;  we  want  a  word-paintef  here,  sir.  My  description 
of  the  wedding  sold  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  and  it  is 
selling  now.  If  the  proprietors  were  gentlemen,  they  would 
have  sent  me  an  unlimited  credit,  instead  of  their  paltry  fifty 
pounds  a  day  and  my  expenses;  but  you  never  meet  a  liberal 
man  now — no  such  animal  known.  What  I  want  you  to  do 
for  me.  Lord  Waldershare,  is  to  get  me  invited  to  the  Villa 
Aurea  when  the  court  moves  there.  It  will  be  private  life 
there,  and  that  is  the  article  the  British  public  want  now. 
They  are  satiated  with  ceremonies  and  festivals.  They  want 
to  know  what  the  royal  pair  have  for  dinner  when  they  are 
alone,  how  they  pass  their  evenings,  and  whether  the  queen 
drives  ponies." 

"  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said  Waldershare,  "  they  shall 
remain  state  secrets. 

"  I  have  received  no  special  favors  here,"  rejoined  St.  Barbe, 
"  though,  with  my  claims,  I  might  have  counted  on  the  utter- 
most.    However,  it  is  always  so.     I  must  depend  on  my  own 


END  TM I  ON.  3S9 

resources.  I  have  a  retainer,  I  can  tell  you,  my  lord,  flom  the 
Rigdu77i  Funnidos^  in  my  pocket,  and  it  is  in  my  power  to 
keep  up  such  a  crackling  of  jokes  and  sarcasms  tha»t  a  very  dif- 
ferent view  would  soon  be  entertained  in  Europe  of  what  is 
going  on  here  from  is  now  the  fashion.  The  Rlgdum  Funni- 
dos  is  on  the  breakfast-table  of  all  England,  and  sells  thousands 
in  every  capital  of  the  world.  You  do  not  appreciate  its  power; 
you  will  now  feel  it." 

"  I  also  am  a  subscriber  to  tho  Rigdum  Funnidos^''  said 
Waldershare,  "  and  tell  you  frankly,  Mr.  St.  Barbe,  that  it  I 
see  in  its  columns  the  slightest  allusion  to  any  person  or  inci- 
dent in  this  country,  I  will  take  care  that  you  be  instantly 
consigned  to  the  galleys;  and,  this  being  a  liberal  government, 
I  can  do  that  without  even  the  ceremony  of  a  primary  inquiry." 

"  You  do  not  mean  that!"  said  St.  Barbe;  "  of  course,  I  was 
only  jesting.  It  is  not  likely  that  I  should  say  or  do  anything 
disagreeable  to  those  whom  I  look  upon  as  my  patrons — I  may 
say  friends — through  life.  It  makes  me  almost  weep  when  I 
remember  my  early  connection  with  Mr.  Ferrars,  now  an 
Under-Secretary  of  State,  and  who  will  mount  higher.  I  never 
had  a  chance  of  being  a  minister,  though  I  suppose  I  am  not 
more  incapable  than  others  who  get  the  silver  spoon  into  their 
mouths.  And  then  his  divine  sister!  Quite  an  heroic  char- 
acter! I  never  had  a  sister,  and  so  I  never  had  even  the  chance 
of  being  nearly  related  to  royalty.  But  so  it  has  been  through- 
out my  life.  No  luck,  my  lord;  no  luck.  And  then  they  say 
one  is  misanthropical.  Hang  it!  who  can  help  being  misan- 
thropical when  he  finds  everybody  getting  on  in  life  except 
himself  ?" 

The  court  moved  to  their  favorite  summer  residence,  a  Pal- 
ladian  palace  on  a  blue  lake,  its  banks  clothed  with  forests 
abounding  in  every  species  of  game,  and  beyond  them  loftier 
mountains.  The  king  was  devoted  to  sport,  and  Endymion 
was  always  among  his  companions.  Waldershare  rather  at- 
tached himself  to  the  ladies,  who  made  gay  parties  floating  in 
gondolas,  and  refreshed  themselves  with  picnics  in  sylvan  re- 
treats. It  was  sujDposed  Lord  Waldershare  was  a  great  ad- 
mirer of  the  Princess  of  Montserrat,  who  in  return  referred  to 
him  as  that  "  lovable  eccentricity."  As  the  autumn  advanced, 
parties  of  guests  of  high  distinction,  carefully  arranged,  peri- 
odically arrived.  Now  there  was  more  ceremony,  and  every 
evening  the  circle  was  formed,  while  the  king  and  queen  ex- 
changed words,  and  sometimes  ideas,  with  those  who  were  so 


390  ENDTMION, 

fortunate  as  to  be  under  their  roof.  Frequently  there  were 
dramatic  performances,  and  sometimes  a  dance.  The  Prin- 
cess of  Montserrat  was  invaluable  in  these  scenes;  vivacious, 
imaginative,  a  consummate  mimic,  her  countenance,  though 
not  beautiful,  was  full  of  charm.  What  was  strange,  Adriana 
took  a  great  fancy  to  her  highness,  and  they  were  seldom  sep- 
arated. The  only  cloud  for  Endymion  in  this  happy  life  was 
that  every  day  the  necessity  of  his  return  tc  England  was 
more  urgent,  and  every  day  the  days  vanished  more  quickly. 
That  return  to  England,  once  counted  by  weeks,  would  soon 
be  counted  by  hours.  He  had  conferred  once  or  twice  with 
Waldershare  on  the  subject,  who  always  turned  the  conversa- 
tion; at  last  Endymion  reminded  him  that  the  time  of  his  de- 
parture was  at  hand,  and  that,  originally,  it  had  been  agreed 
they  should  return  together. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Ferrars,  we  did  so  agree,  but  the  agreement 
was  permissive,  not  compulsory.  My  views  are  changed. 
Perhaps  I  shall  never  return  to  England  again ;  I  think  of  being 
naturalized  here." 

The  queen  was  depressed  at  the  prospect  of  being  separated 
from  her  brother.  Sometimes  she  remonstrated  with  him  for 
his  devotion  to  sport  which  deprived  her  of  his  society;  fre- 
quently in  a  morning  she  sent  for  him  to  her  boudoir,  that  they 
might  talk  together  as  in  old  times.  "  The  king  has  invited 
Lord  and  Lady  Beaumaris  to  pay  us  a  visit,  and  they  are 
coming  at  once.  I  had  hoped  the  dear  Hainaults  might  have 
visited  us  here.  I  think  she  would  have  liked  it.  However, 
they  will  certainly  pass  the  winter  with  us.  It  is  some  conso- 
lation to  me  not  to  lose  Adriana." 

"The  greatest,"  said  Endymion;  "and  she  seems^so  happy 
here.     She  seems  quite  changed." 

"  I  hope  she  is  happier,"  said  the  queen,  "  but  I  trust  she  is 
not  changed.  I  think  her  nearly  perjfection.  So  pure,  even  so 
exalted  a  mind,  joined  with  so  sweet  a  temper,  I  have  never 
met.  And  she  is  very  much  admired  too,  I  can  tell  you.  The 
Prince  of  Aragon  would  be  on  his  knees  to  her  to-morrow;  if 
she  would  only  give  him  a  single  smile.  But  she  smiles 
enough  with  the  Princess  of  Montserrat.  I  heard  her  the 
other  day  absolutely  in  uncontrollable  laughter.  That  is  a 
strange  friendship  ;  it  amuses  me." 

"  The  princess  has  immense  resource." 

The  queen  suddenly  rose  from  her  seat;  her  countenance 
was  disturbed. 


ENDTMION, 


':-)i 


"  Why  do  we  talk  of  her,  or  of  any  other  trifler  of  the  court, 
when  there  hangs  over  us  so  great  a  sorrow,  Endymion,  as 
our  separation?  Endymion,  my  best  beloved,"  and  she  threw 
her  arms  round  his  neck,  "my  heart!  my  life!  Is  it  possible 
that  you  can  leave  me,  and  so  miserable  as  I  am !" 

"Miserable!" 

"Yes!  miserable  when  I  think  of  your  position — and  even 
my  own.  Mine  own  has  risen  like  a  palace  in  a  dream,  and 
may  vanish  like  one.  But  that  would  not  be  a  calamity  if  you 
were  safe.  If  I  quitted  this  world  to-morrow,  where  would 
you  be?  It  gives  me  sleepless  nights  and  anxious  days.  If 
you  really  loved  me  as  you  say,  you  would  save  me  this.  I 
am  haunted  with  the  perpetual  thought  that  all  this  glittering 
prosperity  will  vanish  as  it  did  with  our  father.  God  forbid 
that,  under  any  circumstances,  it  should  lead  to  such  3n  end; 
but  who  knows?  Fate  is  terribly  stern;  ironically  just.  Oh, 
Endymion!  if  you  really  love  me,  your  tv»^in,  half  of  your 
blood  and  life,  who  have  labored  for  you  so  much,  and  thought 
for  you  so  much,  and  prayed  for  you  so  much — and  yet,  I 
sometimes  feel,  have  done  so  little.  Oh,  Endymion!  my 
adored,  my  own  Endymion !  if  you  wish  to  preserve  my  life — 
if  you  wish  me  not  only  to  live,  but  really  to  be  happy  as  I 
ought  to  be,  and  could  be,  but  for  one  dark  thought,  help  me, 
aid  me,  save  me — you  can,  and  by  one  single  act." 

"  One  single  act!" 

"Yes!  marry  Adriana." 

"Ah!  "and  he  sighed. 

"  Yes,  Adriana,  to  whom  we  both  of  us  owe  everything. 
Were  it  not  for  Adriana,  you  would  not  be  here,  you  would 
be  nothing,"  and  she  whispered  some  words  which  made  him 
start,  and  alternately  blush  and  look  pale. 

"Is  it  possible?"  he  exclaimed.  "My  sister,  my  beloved 
sister!  I  have  tried  to  keep  my  brain  cool  in  many  trials.  But 
I  feel,  as  it  were,  as  if  life  were  too  much  for  me.  You  coun- 
sel me  to  that  which  we  should  all  repent." 

"Yes,  I  know  it;  you  may  for  a  moment  think  it  a  sacrifice, 
but,  believe  me,  that  is  all  fantasy.  I  know  you  think  your 
heart  belongs  to  another.  I  will  grant  everything,  willingly 
grant  everything  you  could  say  of  her.  Yes,  I  admit,  she  is 
beautiful,  she  has  many  charms,  has  been  to  you  a  faithful 
friend,  you  delight  in  her  society ;  such  things  have  happened 
before  to  many  men,  to  every  man  they  say  they  happen,  but 
that  has  not  prevented  them  from  being  wise,  and  very  happy 


392  ENDTMION, 

too.  Your  present  position,  if  you  persist  in  it,  is  one  most 
perilous.  You  have  no  root  in  the  country;  but  for  an  acci- 
dent you  could  not  maintain  the  public  position  you  have  nobly 
gained.  As  for  the  great  crowning  consummation  of  your 
life,  -which  we  dreamed  over  at  unhappy  Hurstley,  which  I 
have  sometimes  dared  to  prophesy,  that  must  be  surrendered. 
The  country,  at  the  best,  will  look  upon  you  only  as  a  reputa- 
ble adventurer  to  be  endured,  even  trusted  and  supported,  in 
some  secondary  post,  but  nothing  more.  I  touch  on  this,  for  I 
see  it  is  useless  to  speak  of  myself  and  my  own  fate  and  feel- 
ings; only  remember,  Endymion,  I  have  never  deceived  you. 
I  cannot  endure  any  longer  this  state  of  aftairs.  When  in  a 
few  days  we  part,  we  shall  never  meet  again.  And  all  the  de- 
votion of  Myra'will  end  in  your  destroying  her." 

"  My  own,  my  beloved  Myra,  do  with  me  what  you  like. 
If—" 

At  this  moment  there  vs^as  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  and  the 
king  entered. 

"  My  angel,"  he  said,  "  and  you,  too,  my  dear  Endymion. 
I  have  some  news  from  England  which  I  fear  may  distress  you. 
Lord  Montfort  is  dead." 


CHAPTER   XCVI. 

There  was  ever,  when  separated,  an  uninterrupted  corres- 
pondence between  Berengaria  and  Endymion.  They  wrote 
to  each  other  every  day,  so  that  when  they  met  again  there  was 
no  void  in  their  lives  and  mutual  experience,  aud  each  was 
acquainted  with  almost  every  feeling  and  incident  that  had  been 
proved  or  had  occurred  since  they  parted.  The  startling  news, 
however,  communicated  by  the  king  had  not  previously 
reached  Endymion,  because  he  was  on  the  eve  of  his  return  to 
England  and  his  correspondents  had  been  requested  to  direct 
their  future  letters  to  his  residence  in  London. 

His  voyage  home  was  an  agitated  one,  and  not  sanguine  or 
inspiriting.  There  was  a  terrible  uncertainty  in  the  future. 
What  were  the  feelings  of  Lady  Montfort  towards  himself? 
Friendly,  kind,  affectionate,  in  a  certain  sense,  even  devoted,  no 
doubt;  but  all  consistent  with  a  deep  and  determined  friendship 
which  sought  and  wished  for  no  return  more  ardent.  But  now 
she  was  free.  Yes,  but  would  she  again  forfeit  her  fieedom? 
And  if  she  did,  would  it  not  be  to  attain  some  great  end,  prob- 


ENDTMION.  393 

ably  the  great  end  of  her  life?  Lady  Montfort  was  a  woman 
of  far-reaching  ambition.  In  a  certain  degree,  she  had  married 
to  secure  her  Lofty  aims;  and  yet  it  was  only  by  her  singular 
energy,  and  the  playfulness  and  high  spirit  of  her  temperament, 
that  the  sacrifice  had  not  proved  a  failure;  her  success,  how- 
ever, was  limited,  for  the  ally  on  whom  she  had  counted  rarely 
assisted  and  never  sympathized  with  her.  It  was  true  she 
admired  and  even  loved  her  husband;  her  vanity,  which  was 
not  slight,  was  gratified  by  her  conquest  of  one  whom  it  had 
seemed  no  one  could  subdue,  and  who  apparently  placed  at  her 
feet  all  the  power  and  magnificence  which  she  appreciated. 

Poor  Endymion  who  loved  her  passionately,  over  whom 
she  exercised  the  influence  of  a  divinity,  who  would  do  noth- 
ing without  consulting  her,  and  who  was  moulded,  and  who 
wished  to  be  moulded,  in  all  his  thoughts  and  feelings,  and 
acts  and  conduct,  by  her  inspiring  will,  was  also  a  shrewd  man 
of  the  world,  and  did  not  permit  his  sentiment  to  cloud  his 
perception  of  life  and  its  doings.  He  felt  that  Lady  Mont- 
fort had  fallen  from  a  lofty  position,  and  she  was  not  of  a 
temperament  that  would  quietly  brook  her  fate.  Instead  of 
being  the  mistress  of  castles  and  palaces,  with  princely  means 
and  all  the  splendid  accidents  of  life  at  her  command,  she  was 
now  a  dowager  with  a  jointure!  Still  young,  with  her  charms 
unimpaired,  heightened  even  by  the  maturity  of  her  fascina- 
ting qualities,  would  she  endure  this?  She  might  retain  her 
friendship  for  one  who,  as  his  sister  ever  impressed  upon  him, 
had  no  root  in  this  land ;  and  even  that  friendship,  he  felt  con- 
scious, must  yield  much  of  its  entireness  and  intimacy  to  the 
influence  of  new  ties;  but  for  their  lives  ever  being  joined  to- 
gether, as  had  sometimes  been  his  wild  dream,  his  cheek, 
though  alone,  burned  with  the  consciousness  of  his  folly  and 
self-deception. 

"  He  is  one  of  our  rising  statesmen,"  whispered  the  captain 
of  the  vessel  to  a  passenger,  as  Endymion,  silent,  lonely,  and 
absorbed,  walked,  as  was  his  daily  custom,  the  quarter-deck.  "  I 
dare  say  he  has  a  good  load  on  his  mind.  Do  you  know,  I 
would  sooner  be  a  captain  of  a  ship  than  a  minister  of  state  ? 

Poor  Endymion!  Yes,  he  bore  his  burden,  but  it  was  not 
secrets  of  state  that  overwhelmed  him.  If  his  mind  for  a  mo- 
ment quitted  the  contemplation  of  Lady  Montfort,  it  was  only 
to  encounter  the  recollection  of  a  heart-rending  separation  from 
his  sister,  and  his  strange  and  now  perplexing  relations  with 
Adriana. 


394  ENDT'MION, 

Lord  Montfort  had  passed  the  summer,  as  he  had  announced, 
at  Princedown,  and  alone;  that  is  to  say,  without  Lady  Mont- 
fort. She  wrote  to  him  frequently,  and  if  she  omitted  doing 
so  for  a  longer  interval  than  usual,  he  would  indite  to  her  a 
little  note,  always  courteous,  sometimes  even  almost  kind,  re- 
minding her  that  her  letters  amused  him,  and  that  of  late  they 
had  been  rarer  than  he  wished.  Lady  Montfort  herself  made 
Montfort  Castle  her  home,  paying  sometimes  a  visit  to  her 
family  in  the  neighborhood,  and  sometimes  receiving  them  and 
other  guests.  Lord  Montfort  himself  did  not  live  in  absolute 
solitude.  He  had  society  always  at  command.  He  always 
had  a  court  about  him ;  equerries  and  secretaries  and  doctors, 
and  odd  and  amusing  men  whom  they  found  out  for  him,  and 
who  vs^ere  well  pleased  to  find  themselves  in  his  beautiful  and 
magnificent  Princedown,  wandering  in  woods  and  parks  and 
pleasaunces,  devouring  his  choice  entrees^  and  quaffing  his 
curious  wines.  Sometimes  he  dined  with  them,  sometimes  a 
few  dined  with  him,  sometimes  he  was  not  seen  for  weeks; 
but,  whether  he  were  visible  or  not,  he  was  the  subject  of  con- 
stant thought  and  conversation  by  all  under  his  roof. 

Lord  Montfort,  it  may  be  remembered,  was  a  great  fisher- 
man. It  was  the  only  sport  which  retained  a  hold  upon  him. 
The  solitude,  the  charming  scenery,  and  the  requisite  skill  com- 
bined to  please  him.  He  had  a  love  for  nature,  and  he  grati- 
fied it  in  this  pursuit.  His  domain  abounded  in  those  bright 
chalky  streams  which  the  trout  love.  He  liked  to  watch  the 
moor-hens,  too,  and  especially  the  kingfisher. 

Lord  Montfort  came  home  late  one  day  after  much  wading. 
It  had  been  a  fine  day  for  anglers,  soft  and  not  too  bright,  and 
he  had  been  tempted  to  remain  long  in  the  water.  He  drove 
home  rapidly,  but  it  was  in  an  open  carriage,  and  when  the  sun 
set  there  was  a  cold  autumnal  breeze.  He  complained  at 
night,  and  said  he  had  been  chilled.  There  was  always  a 
doctor  under  the  roof,  who  felt  his  patient's  pulse,  ordered  the 
usual  remedies,  and  encouraged  him.  Lord  Montfort  passed  a 
bad  night,  and  his  physician  in  the  morning  found  fever,  and 
feared  there  were  symptoms  of  pleurisy.  He  prescribed 
accordingly,  but  summoned  from  town  two  great  authorities. 
The  great  authorities  did  not  arrive  until  the  next  day.  They 
approved  of  everything  that  had  been  done,  but  shook  their 
heads.     "  No  immediate  danger,  but  serious." 

Four-and-twenty  hours  afterwards  they  inquired  of  Lord 
Montfort  whether  they   should  send   for    his  wife.     "  On    no 


ENDTMION, 


395 


account  whatever,"  he  replied.  "  My  orders  on  this  head  arc 
absolute."  Nevertheless,  they  did  send  for  Lady  Montfort,  and 
as  there  was  even  then  a  telegraph  to  the  north,  Berengaria, 
who  departed  from  her  castle  instantly,  and  travelled  all  night, 
arrived  in  eight-and-forty  hours  at  Princedown.  The  state  of 
Lord  Montfort  then  was  critical. 

It  was  broken  to  Lord  Montfort  that  his  wife  had  arrived. 

"  I  perceive,  then,"  he  replied,  "  that  I  am  going  to  die,  be- 
cause I  am  disobeyed." 

These  were  the  last  words  he  uttered.  He  turned  in  his 
bed,  as  it  were  to  conceal  his  countenance,  and  expired  without 
a  sigh  or  sound. 

There  was  not  a  single  person  at  Princedown  in  whom  Lady 
Montfort  could  confide.  She  had  summoned  the  family  solici- 
tor, but  he  could  not  arrive  until  the  next  day,  and  until  he 
came  she  insisted  that  none  of  her  late  lord's  papers  should  be 
touched.  She  at  first  thought  he  had  made  a  will,  because 
otherwise  all  his  property  would  go  to  his  cousin,  whom  he 
particularly  hated,  and  yet  on  reflection  she  could  hardly  fiincy 
his  making  a  will.  It  was  a  trouble  to  him — a  disagreeable 
trouble;  and  there  was  nobody  she  knew  whom  he  would 
care  to  benefit.  He  was  not  a  man  who  would  leave  anything 
to  hospitals  and  charities.  Therefore,  on  the  whole,  she  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  he  had  not  made  a  will,  though  all  the  guests 
at  Princedown  were  of  a  different  opinion,  and  each  was  cal- 
culating the  amount  of  his  own  legacy. 

At  last  the  lawyer  arrived,  and  he  brought  the  will  with 
him.  It  was  very  short,  and  not  very  recent.  Everything  he 
had  in  the  world  except  the  settled  estates,  Montfort  Castle  and 
Montfort  House,  he  bequeathed  to  his  wife.  It  was  a  vast  in- 
heritance; not  only  Princedown,  but  great  accumulations  of 
personal  property,  for  Lord  Montfort  was  fond  of  amassing,  and 
admired  the  sweet  simplicity  of  the  three-per-cents. 


CHAPTER  XCVH. 

When  Endymion  arrived  in  London,  he  found  among  his 
letters  two  brief  notes  from  Lady  Montfort;  one  hurriedly  writ- 
ten at  Montfort  Castle  at  the  moment  of  her  departure,  and 
another  from  Princedown,  with  these  words  only:  "All  is 
over."  More  than  a  week  had  elapsed  since  the  last  was 
written,  and  he  had  already  learned  from  the  newspapers  that 


396  ENDTMION, 

the  funeral  had  taken  place.  It  was  a  painful  but  still  neces- 
sary duty  to  fulfil,  to  write  to  her,  which  he  did,  but  he  re- 
ceived no  answer  to  his  letter  of  sympathy,  and  to  a  certain 
degree,  of  condolence.  Time  flew  on,  but  he  could  not  ven- 
ture to  write  again,  and  without  any  absolute  cause  for  his 
discomfort,  he  felt  harassed  and  unhappy.  He  had  been  so  ac- 
customed all  his  life  to  exist  under  the  genial  influence  of 
women  that  his  present  days  seemed  lone  and  dark.  His  sis- 
ter and  Berengaria,  two  of  the  most  gifted  and  charming 
beings  in  the  world,  had  seemed  to  agree  that  their  first  duty 
had  ever  been  to  sympathize  with  his  fortunes  and  to  aid 
them.  Even  his  correspondence  with  Myra  was  changed. 
There  was  a  tone  of  constraint  in  their  communications;  per- 
haps it  was  the  great  alteration  in  her  position  that  occa- 
sioned it?  His  heart  assured  him  that  such  was  not  the  case. 
He  felt  deeply  and  acutely  what  was  the  cause.  The  subject 
most  interesting  to  both  of  them  could  not  be  touched  on.  And 
then  he  thought  of  Adriana,  and  contrasted  his  dull  and  soli- 
tary home  in  Hill  street  with  what  it  might  have  been,  graced 
by  her  presence,  animated  by  her  devotion,  and  softened  by 
the  sweetness  of  her  temper. 

Endymion  began  to  feel  that  the  run  of  his  good-fortune  was 
dried.  His  sister,  when  he  had  a  trouble,  would  never  hear  of 
this;  she  always  held  that  the  misery  and  calamities  of  their 
early  years  had  exhausted  the  influence  of  their  evil  stars,  and 
apparently  she  had  been  right,  and  perhaps  she  would  have 
always  been  right  had  he  not  been  perverse,  and  thwarted  her 
in  the  most  important  circumstances  of  his  life. 

In  this  state  of  mind,  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to 
plunge  into  business;  and  affairs  of  state  are  a  cure  for  many 
cares  and  sorrows.  What  are  our  petty  annoyances  and  griefs 
when  we  have  to  guard  the  fortunes  and  the  honor  of  a  nation  ? 

The  November  cabinets  had  comxmenced,  and  this  brought 
all  the  chiefs  to  town,  Sidney  Wilton  among  them;  and  his 
society  was  always  a  great  pleasure  to  Endymion;  the  only 
social  pleasure  now  left  to  him  was  a  little  dinner  at  Mr.  Wil- 
ton's, and  little  dinners  there  abounded.  Mr.  Wilton  knew  all 
the  persons  that  he  was  always  thinking  about,  but  whom,  it 
might  be  noticed,  they  seemed  to  agree  now  rarely  to  mention. 
As  for  the  rest,  there  was  nobody  to  call  upon  in  the  delightful 
hours  between  official  duties  and  dinner.  No  Lady  Roehamp- 
ton  now,  no  brilliant  Berengaria,  not  even  the  gentle  Imogene 
with  her  welcome  smile.     He  looked  in  at  the  Coventry  Club 


ENDTMION.  397 

— a  club  of  fashion,  and  also  much  frequented  by  diplomatists. 
There  were  a  good  many  persons  there,  and  a  foreign  minister 
immediately  button-holed  the  Under-secretary  of  State. 

"  I  called  at  the  Foreign  Office  to-day,"  said  the  foreign 
minister.     "  I  assure  you  it  is  very  pressing." 

"  I  had  the  American  with  me,"  said  Endymion,"  and  he  is 
lengthy.  However,  as  to  your  business,  I  think  we  might  talk 
it  over  here,  and  perhaps  settle  it."  And  so  they  left  the  room 
together. 

"  I  wonder  what  is  going  to  happen  to  that  gentleman,"  said 
Mr.  Ormsby,  glancing  at  Endymion,  and  speaking  to  Mr. 
Cassilis. 

"  Why  ? "  replied  Mr.  Cassilis,  "  is  anything  up?  " 

"  Will  he  marrv  Lady  Montfort?" 

"Poh!"said  MV.  Cassilis. 

"  You  may  poh ! "  said  Mr.  Ormsby,  "  but  he  was  a  great 
favorite." 

"  Lady  Montfort  will  never  marry.  She  had  always  a 
poodle,  and  always  will  have.  She  was  never  so  lice  with 
Ferrars  as  with  the  Count  of  Ferroll,  and  half  a  dozen  others. 
She  must  have  a  slave." 

"  A  very  good  mistress  with  thirty  thousand  a  year." 

"  She  has  not  that,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis,  doubtingly. 

"  What  do  you  put  Princedown  at?  "  said  Mr.  Ormsby. 

"  That  I  can  tell  you  to  a  T,"  replied  Mr.  Cassilis,  "  for  it 
was  offered  to  me  when  old  Rambrooke  died.  You  will  never 
get  twelve  thousand  a  year  out  of  it." 

"  Well,  I  will  answer  for  half  a  million  Consols,"  said  Orms- 
by; "for  my  lawyer,  when  he  made  a  little  investment  for 
me  the  other  day,  saw  the  entry  himself  in  the  bank-books; 
our  names  are  very  near,  you  know — M  and  O.  Then  there 
is  her  jointure,  something  like  ten  thousand  a  year." 

"  No,  no ;  not  seven." 

"  Well,  that  would  do." 

"  And  what  is  the  amount  of  your  little  investment  in  Con- 
sols altogether,  Ormsby?" 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  top  Montfort,"  said  Mr.  Ormsby,  with  a 
complacent  smile,  "  but  then,  you  know,  I  am  not  a  swell  like 
you ;  I  have  no  land." 

"  Lady  Montfort,  thirty  thousand  a  year  "  said  Mr.  Cassilis, 
musingly.  "  She  is  only  thirty.  She  is  a  woman  who  will 
set  the  Thames  on  fire,  but  she  will  never,  marry.  Do  you 
dine  to-day,  by  any  chance,  with  Sidney  Wilton?" 


398  ENDTMION, 

When  Endymion  returned  home  this  evening,  he  found  a 
letter  from  Lady  Montfort.  It  was  a  month  since  he  had 
written  to  her.  He  was  so  nervous  that  he  absoUitely  for  a 
moment  could  not  break  the  seal,  and  the  palpitation  of  his 
heart  was  almost  overpowering. 

Lady  Montfort  thanked  him  for  his  kind  letter,  which  she 
ought  to  have  acknowledged  before,  but  she  had  been  very 
busy — indeed,  quite  overwhelmed  with  affairs.  She  wished  to 
see  him,  but  was  sony  she  could  not  ask  him  down  to  Prince- 
down,  as  she  was  living  in  complete  retirement,  only  her  aunt 
with  her.  Lady  Gertrude,  whom,  she  believed,  he  knew.  He 
was  aware  .probably  how  good  Lord  Montfort  had  been  to 
her.  Sincerely  she  could  say,  nothing  could  have  been  more 
unexpected.  If  she  could  have  seen  her  husband  before  the 
fatal  moment,  it  would  have  been  a  consolation  to  her.  He 
had  always  been  kind  to  Endymion;  she  really  believed  some- 
times that  Lord  Montfort  was  even  a  little  attached  to  him. 
She  should  like  Endymion  to  have  some  souvenir  of  her  late 
late  husband.  Would  he  choose  something,  or  would  he  leave 
it  to  her? 

One  would  rather  agree,  from  the  tone  of  this  letter,  that 
Mr.  Cassilis  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  It  fell  rather 
cold  on  Endymion's  heart,  and  he  passed  a  night  of  some  dis- 
quietude; not  one  of  those  nights,  exactly,  when  we  feel  that 
the  end  of  the  world  has  at  length  arrived,  and  that  we  are  the 
first  victim,  but  a  night  when  you  slumber  rather  than  sleep, 
and  wake  with  the  consciousness  of  some  indefinable  chagrin. 

This  was  a  dull  Christmas  for  Endymion  Ferrars.  He 
passed  it,  as  he  had  passed  others,  at  Gaydene,  but  what  a  con- 
trast to  the  old  assemblies  there.  Every  source  of  excitement 
that  could  make  existence  absolutely  fascinating  seemed  then  to 
unite  in  his  happy  fate.  Entrancing  love  and  the  very  romance 
of  domestic  affection,  and  friendships  of  honor  and  happiness, 
and  all  the  charms  of  an  accomplished  society,  and  the  feeling 
of  a  noble  future,  and  the  present  and  urgent  interest  in  national 
affairs — all  gone,  except  some  ambition  which  might  tend  to 
consequences  not  more  successful  than  those  that  had  ultimately 
visited  his  house  with  irreparable  calamity. 

The  meeting  of  Parliament  was  a  great  relief  to  Endymion. 
Besides  his  office,  he  had  now  the  House  of  Commons  to  oc- 
cupy him.  He  was  never  absent  from  his  place;  no  little  run- 
nings up  to  Montfort  House  or  Plill  Street  just  to  tell  them  the 
authentic  news,  or  snatch  a  hasty  repast  with  furtive  delight, 


END  r MI  ON.  399 

with  persons  still  more  delightful,  and  flattering  one's  self  all 
the  time  that,  so  far  as  absence  was  concerned,  the  fleetness  of 
one's  gifted  brougham  horse  really  made  it  no  difference 
between  May  Fair  and  Bellamy's. 

Endymion  had  replied,  but  not  very  quickly,  to  Lady  Mont- 
fort's  letter,  and  he  had  heard  from  her  again,  but,  her  letter 
requiring  no  reply,  the  correspondence  had  dropped.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  March  when  she  wrote  to  him  to  say  that  she 
was  obliged  to  come  to  town  to  see  her  lawyer  and  transact 
some  business;  that  she  would  be  "at  papa's  in  Grosvenor 
Square,"  though  the  house  was  shut  up,  on  a  certain  day ;  that 
she  much  wished  to  see  Endymion,  and  begged  him  to  call  on 
her. 

It  was  a  trying  moment  when  about  noon  he  lifted  the 
knocker  in  Grosvenor  Square.  The  door  was  not  opened  rap- 
idly, and  the  delay  made  him  more  nervous.  He  almost 
wished  the  door  would  never  open.  He  was  shown  into  a 
small  back  room  on  the  ground-floor  in  which  was  a  bookcase, 
and  which  chamber,  in  the  language  of  Grosvenor  Square,  is 
called  a  library. 

"  Her  ladyship  will  see  you  presently,"  said  the  servant,  who 
had  come  up  from  Princedown. 

Endymion  was  standing  before  the  fire,  and  as  nervous  as  a 
man  could  well  be.  He  sighed,  and  he  sighed  more  than  once. 
His  breathing  was  oppressed ;  he  felt  that  life  was  too  short  to 
permit  us  to  experience  such  scenes  and  situations.  He  heard 
the  lock  of  the  door  move,  and  it  required  all  his  manliness  to 
endure  it. 

She  entered ;  she  was  in  weeds,  but  they  became  her  admir- 
ably; her  countenance  was  grave,  and  apparently  with  an 
effort  to  command  it.  She  did  not  move  hurriedly,  but  held 
out  both  her  hands  to  Endymion  and  retained  his,  and  all  with- 
out speaking.  Her  lips  then  seemed  to  move,  when,  rather 
suddenly,  withdrawing  her  right  hand,  and  placing  it  on  his 
shoulder  and  burying  her  face  in  her  arm,  she  wept. 

He  led  her  soothingly  to  a  seat,  and  took  a  chair  by  her  side. 
Not  a  word  had  yet  been  spoken  by  either  of  them ;  only  a 
murmur  of  sympathy  on  the  part  of  Endymion.  Lady  Mont- 
fort  spoke  first. 

"  I  am  weaker  than  I  thought,  but  it  is  a  great  trial."  And 
then  she  said  how  sorry  she  was  that  she  could  not  receive 
him  at  Princedown;  but  she  thought  it  best  that  he  should  not 
^o  there.     "  I  have  a  great  deal  of  business  to  transact — you 


400  END  r MI  ON. 

would  not  believe  how  much.  I  do  not  dislike  it;  it  occupies 
me,  it  employs  my  mind.  I  have  led  so  active  a  life,  that  soli- 
tude is  rather  too  much  for  me.  Among  other  business,  I 
must  buy  a  town  house,  and  that  is  the  most  difficult  of  affairs. 
There  never  was  so  great  a  city  with  such  small  houses.  I 
shall  feel  the  loss  of  Montfort  House,  though  I  never  used  it 
half  so  much  as  I  wished.  I  want  a  mansion ;  I  should  think 
you  could  help  me  in  this.  When  I  return  to  society,  I  mean 
to  receive.  There  must  be  therefore  good  reception  rooms; 
if  possible,  more  than  good.  And  now  let  us  talk  about  our 
friends.  Tell  me  all  about  your  royal  sister,  and  this  new 
marriage ;  it  rather  surprised  me,  but  I  think  it  excellent.  Ah, 
you  can  keep  a  secret,  but  you  see  it  is  no  use  having  a  secret 
with  me.     Even  in  solitude  everything  reaches  me*" 

"  I  assure  you  most  seriously  that  I  can  annex  no  meaning 
to  what  you  are  saying." 

"  Then  I  can  hardly  think  it  true ;  and  yet  it  came  from  high 
authority,  and  it  was  not  told  to  me  as  a  secret." 

"  A  marriage,  and  whose  ?" 

"  Miss  NeuchatePs — Adriana." 

"  And  to  whom?"  inquired  Endymion,  changing  color. 

"  To  Lord  Waldershare." 

"  To  Lord  Waldershare!" 

"  And  has  not  your  sister  mentioned  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Not  a  word ;  it  cannot  be  true." 

"I  will  give  to  you  my  authority,"  said  Lady  Montfort. 
"  Though  I  came  here  in  the  twilight  in  a  hired  brougham  and 
with  a  veil,  I  was  caught  before  I  could  enter  the  house  by,  of 
all  people  in  the  world,  Mrs.  Rodney.  And  she  told  me  this 
in  what  she  called  '  real  confidence,'  and  it  was  announced  to 
her  in  a  letter  from  her  sister,  Lady  Beaumaris.  They  seem 
aU  delighted  with  the  match." 


CHAPTER  XCVHI. 

This  marriage  of  Adriana  was  not  an  event  calculated  to 
calm  the  uneasy  and  dissatisfied  temperament  of  Endymion. 
The  past  rendered  it  impossible  that  this  announcement  should 
not  in  some  degree  affect  him.  Then  the  silence  of  his  sister 
on  such  a  subject  was  too  significant;  the  silence  even  of 
Waldershare.  Somehow  or  other,  it  seemed  that  all  these 
once  dear  and  devoted  friends  stood  in  different  relations  to 


ENDTMION,  401 

him  and  to  each  other  from  what  they  once  filled.  They  had 
become  more  near  and  intimate  together,  but  he  seemed  with- 
out the  pale;  he,  that  Endymion,  who  once  seemed  the  prime 
object,  if  not  the  centre  of  all  their  thoughts  and  sentiment. 
And  why  was  this?  What  was  the  influence  that  had  swayed 
him  to  a  line  contrary  to  what  was  once  their  hopes  and  alFec- 
tions?  Had  he  an  evil  genius?  And  was  it  she?  Horrible 
thought! 

The  interview  with  Lady  Montfort  had  been  deeply  interest- 
ing— had  for  a  moment  restored  him  to  himself.  Had  it  not 
been  for  this  news,  he  might  have  returned  home,  soothed, 
gratified,  even  again  indulging  in  dreams.  But  this  news  had 
made  him  ponder;  had  made  him  feel  what  he  had  lost,  and 
forced  him  to  ask  himself  what  he  had  gained. 

There  was  one  thing  he  had  gained,  and  that  was  the  privi- 
lege of  calling  on  Lady  Montfort  the  next  day.  That  was  a 
fact  that  sometimes  dissipated  all  the  shadows.  Under  the 
immediate  influence  of  her  presence,  he  became  spell-bound 
as  of  yore ;  and  in  the  intoxication  of  her  beauty,  the  brightness 
of  her  mind,  and  her  ineffable  attraction,  he  felt  he  would  be 
content  with  any  lot,  provided  he  might  retain  her  kind 
thoughts,  and  pass  much  of  his  life  in  her  society. 

She  was  only  staying  three  or  four  days  in  town,  and  was 
much  engaged  in  the  mornings;  but  Endymion  called  on  her 
every  afternoon,  and  sat  talking  with  her  till  dinner-time,  and 
they  both  dined  very  late.  As  he  really  on  personal  and 
domestic  affairs  never  could  have  any  reserve'with  her,  he  told 
her,  in  that  complete  confidence  in  which  they  always  indulged, 
of  the  extraordinary  revelation  which  his  sister  had  made  to 
him  about  the  parliamentary  qualification.  Lady  Montfort 
was  deeply  interested  in  this;  she  was  even  agitated,  and 
looked  very  grave. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "  we  know  this.  Things  cannot  re- 
main now  as  they  are.  You  cannot  return  the  money,  that 
would  be  churlish ;  besides,  you  cannot  return  all  the  advan- 
tages which  it  gained  for  you,  and  they  must  certainly  be  con- 
sidered part  of  the  gift,  and  the  most  precious;  and  then,  too, 
it  would  betray  what  your  sister  rightly  called  a  '  sacred  confi- 
dence.' And  yet  something  must  be  done — you  must  let  me 
think.  Do  not  mention  it  again."  And  then  they  talked  a 
little  of  public  affairs.  Lady  Montfort  saw  no  one,  and  heard 
from  no  one  now;  but,  judging  from  the  journals,  she  thought 
the  position  of  the  government  feeble.     "  There  cannot  be  a 


402  ENDTMION, 

Protectionist  government,"  she  said ;  "  and  yet  that  is  the  only 
parliamentary  party  of  importance.  Things  will  go  on  till 
some  blow,  and  perhaps  a  slight  one,  will  upset  you  all.  And 
then  who  is  to  succeed?  I  think  some  queer  melange  got  up, 
perhaps,  by  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine." 

The  last  day  came.  She  parted  from  Endymion  with  kind- 
ness, but  not  with  tenderness.  He  was  choking  with  emotion, 
and  tried  to  imitate  her  calmness. 

"  Am  I  to  write  to  you  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"  Of  course  you  are,"  she  said,  "  every  day,  and  tell  me  all 
the  news." 

The  Hainaults  and  the  Beaumarises  and  ■  Waldershare  did 
not  return  to  England  until  some  time  after  Easter.  The  mar- 
riage was  to  take  place  in  June — Endymion  was  to  be  Wal- 
dershare's  best  man.  There  were  many  festivities,  and  he  was 
looked  upon  as  an  indispensable  guest  in  all.  Adriana  re- 
ceived his  congratulations  with  animation,  but  w^ith  affection. 
She  thanked  him  for  a  bracelet  which  he  had  presented  to  her; 
*'  I  value  it  more,"  she  said,  "  than  all  my  other  presents  to- 
gether, except  what  dear  Waldershare  has  given  to  me." 
Even  with  that  exception,  the  estimate  was  high,  for  never  a 
bride  in  any  land  ever  received  the  number  of  splendid  offerings 
which  crowded  the  tables  of  Lord  Hainault's  new  palace 
which  he  had  just  built  in  Park  Lane.  There  was  not  a  Neu- 
chatel  in  existence,  and  they  flourished  in  every  community, 
who  did  not  send  her  at  least  a  riviere  of  brilliants.  King 
Florestan  and  his  queen  sent  offerings  worthy  of  their  resplen- 
dent throne  and  their  invaluable  friendship.  But  nothing  sur- 
passed, nothing  approached,  the  contents  of  a  casket  which,  a 
day  before  the  wedding,  arrived  at  Hainault  House.  It  came 
from  a  foreign  land,  and  Waldershare  superintended  the  open- 
ing of  the  case,  and  the  appearance  of  a  casket  of  crimson 
velvet,  with  genuine  excitement.  But  when  it  was  opened!" 
There  was  a  coronet  of  brilliants;  a  necklace  of  brilliants  and 
emeralds,  and  one  of  sapphires  and  brilliants;  and  dazzling 
bracelets,  and  all  the  stones  more  than  precious;  gems  of  Gol- 
conda  no  longer  obtainable,  and  lustrous  companions  which 
only  could  have  been  created  in  the  hot  earth  of  Asia.  From 
whom?  Not  a  glimpse  of  meaning.  All  that  was  written  in 
a  foreign  handwriting,  on  a  sheet  of  note  paper,  was,  "  For 
the  Lady  Viscountess  Waldershare." 

"  When  the  revolution  comes,"  said  Lord  Hainault, "  Lord 


END  r MI  ON.  403 

Waldershare  and  my  daughter  must  turn  jewellers.      Their 
stock-in-trade  is  ready." 

The  correspondence  between  Lady  Montfort  and  Endymion 
had  resumed  its  ancient  habit.  They  wrote  to  each  other 
every  day,  and  one  day  she  told  him  that  she  had  purchased  a 
house,  and  that  she  must  come  up  to  town  to  examine  and  to 
furnish  it.  She  probably  should  be  a  month  in  London,  and 
remain  there  until  the  end  of  the  season,  in  whose  amusements 
and  business,  of  course,  she  could  not  share.  She  should  "be 
at  papa's,"  though  he  and  his  family  were  in  town;  but  that 
was  no  reason  why  Endymion  should  not  call  on  her.  And 
he  came,  and  called  every  day.  Lady  Montfort  was  full  of 
her  new  house;  it  was  in  Carlton  Gardens,  the  house  she 
always  wished,  always  intended  to  have.  The«re  is  nothing  like 
will;  everybody  can  do  exactly  what  they  like  in  this  world, 
provided  they  really  like  it.  Sometimes  they  think  they  do, 
but  in  general  it  is  a  mistake.  Lady  Montfort,  it  seemed,  was 
a  woman  who  always  could  do  what  she  liked.  She  could  do 
what  she  liked  with  Endymion  Ferrars;  that  was  quite  certain. 
Supposed  by  men  to  have  a  strong  will  and  a  calm  judgment, 
he  was  a  nose  of  wax  with  this  woman.  He  was  fascinated 
by  her,  and  he  had  been  fascinated  now  for  nearly  ten  years. 
What  would  be  the  result  of  this  irresistible  influence  upon 
him  ?  Would  it  make  or  mar  those  fortunes  that  once  seemed 
so  promising?  The  philosophers  of  White's  and  the  Coventrj^ 
were  generally  of  opinion  that  he  had  no  chance. 

Lady  Montfort  was  busy  every  morning  with  her  new 
house,  but  she  never  asked  Endymion  to  accompany  her, 
though  it  seemed  natural  to  do  so.  But  he  saw  her  every  day, 
and  "papa,"  who  was  a  most  kind  and  courtly  gentleman, 
would  often  ask  him,  "  if  he  had  nothing  better  to  do,"  to  dine 
there,  and  he  dined  there  frequently;  and  if  he  were  engaged, 
he  was  always  of  opinion  that  he  had  nothing  better  to  do. 

At  last,  however,  the  season  was  over;  the  world  had  gone 
to  Goodwood,  and  Lady  Montfort  was  about  to  depart  to 
Princedown.  It  was  a  dreary  prospect  for  Endymion,  and  he 
could  not  conceal  his  feelings.  He  could  not  help  saying  one 
day,  "  Do  you  know,  now  that  you  are  going,  I  almost  wish  to 
die." 

Alas!  she  only  laughed.  But  he  looked  grave.  "I  am  ver} 
unhappy,"  he  sighed  rather  than  uttered. 

She  looked  at  him  with  seriousness.  "  I  do  not  think  our 
separation  need  be  very  long.     Papa  and  all  my  funnily   are 


404  ENDTMION, 

coming  to  me  in  September  to  pay  me  a  very  long  visit.  I 
really  do  not  see  why  you  should  not  come  too." 

Endymion's  countenance  mantled  with  rapture.  "  If  I  might 
come,  I  think  I  should  be  the  happiest  of  men !" 

The  month  that  was  to  elapse  before  his  visit,  Endymion 
was  really,  as  he  said,  the  happiest  of  men ;  at  least,  the  world 
thought  him  so.  He  seemed  to  walk  upon  tiptoe.  Parliament 
was  prorogued,  office  was  consigned  to  permanent  secretaries, 
and  our  youthful  statesman  seemed  only  to  live  to  enjoy,  and 
add  to,  the  revelry  of  existence.  Now  at  Cowes,  now  stalking 
in  the  Highlands,  dancing  at  balls  in  the  wilderness,  and  run- 
ning races  of  fantastic  feats,  full  of  health  and  frolic  and  charm, 
he  was  the  delight  of  society ;  while,  the  whole  time,  he  had 
only  one  thought,  and  that  was  the  sacred  day  when  he  should 
again  see  the  being  whom  he  adored,  and  that  in  her  beautiful 
home,  which  her  presenee  made  more  lovely. 

Yes!  he  was  again  at  Princedown,  in  the  bosom  of  her 
family;  none  others  there;  treated  like  one  of  themselves. 
The  courtly  father  pressed  his  hand ;  the  amiable  and  refined 
mother  smiled  upon  him ;  the  daughters,  pretty  and  natural  as 
the  air,  treated  him  as  if  they  were  sisters;  and  even  the  eldest 
son,  who  generally  hates  you,  after  a  little  stiffness,  announced, 
in  a  tone  never  questioned  under  the  family  roof,  that  "  Ferrars 
was  a  first-rate  shot." 

And  so  a  month  rolled  on;  immensely  happy,  as  any  man 
who  has  loved,  and  loved  in  a  beautiful  scene,  alone  can  under- 
stand. One  morning.  Lady  Montfort  said  to  him,  "  I  must  go 
up  to  London  about  my  house.  I  want  to  go  and  return  the 
same  day.  Do  you  know,  I  think  you  had  better  come  with 
me?  You  shall  give  me  a  luncheon  in  Hill  Street,  and  we 
shall  be  back  by  the  last  train.  It  will  be  late,  but  we  shall 
wake  in  the  morning  in  the  country,  and  that  I  always  think  a 
great  thing." 

And  so  it  happened;  they  rose  early  and  arrived  in  town  in 
time  to  give  them  a  tolerably  long  morning.  She  took  him  to 
her  house  in  Carlton  Gardens,  and  showed  to  him  exactly 
how  it  was  all  she  wanted;  accommodation  for  a  first-rate 
establishment;  and  then  the  reception-rooms,  few  houses  in 
London  could  compare  with  them ;  a  gallery  and  three  saloons. 
Then  they  descended  to  the  dining-room.  "  It  is  a  dining- 
room,  not  a  banqueting-hall,"  she  said,  "which  we  had  at 
Montfort  House;  but  still  it  is  much  larger  than  most  dining- 
rooms  in  London.     But  I  think  this  room,  at  least  I  hope  you 


END  r Ml  ON,  405 

do,  quite  charming,"  and  she  took  him  to  a  room  ahnost  as 
large  as  the  dining-room,  and  looking  into  the  garden.  It  was 
fitted  up  with  exquisite  taste;  calm  subdued  coloring,  with 
choice  marble  busts  of  statesmen,  ancient  and  of  our  times,  but 
the  shelves  were  empty. 

"  They  are  empty,"  she  said,  "  but  the  volumes  to  fill  them 
are  already  collected.  Yes,"  she  added,  in  a  tremulous  voice, 
and  slightly  pressing  the  arm  on  which  she  leaned.  "  If  you 
will  deign  to  accept  it,  this  is  the  chamber  I  have  prepared  for 
you." 

"Dearest  of  women!"  and  he  took  her  hand. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  "  help  me  to  realize  the  dream  of  my 
life;"  and  she  touched  his  forehead  with  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  XCIX. 

The  marriage  of  Mr.  Ferrars  with  Lady  Montfort  surprised 
some,  but,  on  the  whole,  pleased  everybody.  They  were  both 
of  them  popular,  and  no  one  seemed  to  envy  them  their  happi- 
ness and  prosperity.  The  union  took  place  at  a  season  of  the 
year  when  there  was  no  London  world  to  observe  and  to  criti- 
cise. It  was  a  quiet  ceremony;  they  went  down  to  Northum- 
berland to  Lady  Montfort's  father,  and  they  were  married  in 
his  private  chapel.  After  that  they  went  off  immediately  to 
pay  a  visit  to  King  Florestan  and  his  queen ;  Myra  had  sent 
her  a  loving  letter. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be  the  first  time  that  your  sister  ever  saw 
me  with  satisfaction,"  remarked  Lady  Montfort;  "but  I  think 
she  will  love  me  now.  I  always  loved  her,  perhaps  because 
she  is  so  like  you." 

It  was  a  happy  meeting  and  a  delightful  visit.  They  did 
not  talk  much  of  the  past.  The  enormous  change  in  the  posi- 
tion of  their  host  and  hostess  since  the  first  days  of  their  ac- 
quaintance, and,  on  their  own  part,  some  indefinite  feeling  of 
delicate  reserve,  combined  to  make  them  rather  dwell  on  a 
present  which  was  full  of  novelty  so  attractive  and  so  absorb- 
ing. In  his  manner  the  king  was  unchanged ;  he  was  never  a 
demonstrative  person,  but,  simple,  unaffected,  rather  silent,  with 
a  sweet  temper  and  a  tender  manner,  he  seemed  to  be  gratified 
that  he  had  the  power  of  conferring  happiness  on  those  around 
him.  His  feeling  to  his  queen  was  one  of  idolatry,  and  she  re- 
ceived Berengaria  as  a  sister  and  a  much  loved  one.     Their 


4o6  ENDTMION. 

presence  and  the  season  of  the  year  made  their  life  a  festival ; 
and  when  they  parted,  there  were  entreaties  and  promises  that 
the  visit  should  be  often  repeated. 

"Adieu,  my  Endymion!"  said  Myra,  at  the  last  moment 
they  were  alone.  "  All  has  happened  for  you  beyond  my 
hopes;  all  now  is  safe.  I  might  wish  we  were  in  the  same 
land,  but  not  if  I  lost  my  husband,  whom  I  adore." 

The  reason  that  forced  them  to  curtail  their  royal  visit  was 
the  state  of  politics  at  home,  which  had  suddenly  become  crit- 
ical. There  were  symptoms,  and  considerable  ones,  of  dis- 
turbance and  danger  when  they  departed  for  their  wedding 
tour,  but  they  could  not  prevail  on  themselves  to*  sacrifice  a 
visit  on  which  they  had  counted  so  much,  and  which  could  not 
be  fulfilled  on  another  occasion  under  the  same  interesting 
circumstances.  Besides,  the  position  of  Mr.  Ferrars,  though 
an  important,  was  a  subordinate  one;  and  though  cabinet  min- 
isters were  not  justified  in  leaving  the  country,  an  Under-secre- 
tary  of  State  and  a  bridegroom  might,  it  would  seem,  depart  on 
his  irresponsible  holiday.  Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  however,  shook 
his  head ;  "  I  do  not  like  the  state  of  affairs,"  he  said.  "  I 
think  you  will  have  to  come  back  sooner  than  you  imagine." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  be  so  foolish  as  to  have  an  early  ses- 
sion?" inquired  Lady  Montfort. 

He  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said,  "  We  are  in  a 
mess." 

What  mess?  and  what  was  the  state  of  affairs? 

This  had  happened.  At  the  end  of  the  autumn,  his  holiness 
the  pope  had  made  half  a  dozen  new  cardinals,  and,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  the  world  and  the  murmurs  of  the  Italians,  there 
appeared  among  them  the  name  of  an  Englishman,  Nigel 
Penruddock,  archbishop  in  fartibus.  Shortly  after  this,  a 
papal  bull  "  given  at  St.  Peter's,  Rome,  under  the  '  seal  of  the 
fisherman,'  "  was  issued,  establishing  a  Roman  hierarchy  in 
England.  This  was  soon  followed  by  a  pastoral  letter  by  the 
new  cardinal  "  given  out  of  the  Appian  Gate,"  announcing  that 
"  Catholic  England  had  been  restored  to  its  orbit  in  the  eccle- 
siastical firmament." 

The  country  at  first  was  more  stupified  than  alarmed.  It 
was  conscious  that  something  extraordinary  had  .happened, 
and  some  great  action  had  been  taken  by  an  ecclesiastical 
power  which  from  tradition  it  was  ever  inclined  to  view  with 
suspicion  and  some  fear.  But  it  held  its  breath  for  awhile.  It 
so  happened  that  the  prime  minister  was  a  member  of  a  great 


END  r MI  ON,  407 

house  which  had  become  ilhistrious  by  its  profession  of  Prot- 
estant principles,  and  even  by  its  sufferings  in  a  cause  which 
Enghind  had  once  looked  on  as  sacred.  'J^he  prime-minister,  a 
man  of  distinguished  ability,  not  devoid  even  of  genius,  was 
also  a  wily  politician,  and  of  almost  unrivalled  experience  in  the 
management  of  political  parties.  The  ministry  was  weak  and 
nearly  worn  out,  and  its  chief,  influenced  partly  by  noble  and 
historical  sentiments,  partly  by  a  conviction  that  he  had  a  fine 
occasion  to  rally  the  confidence  of  the  country  round  himself 
and  his  friends,  and  to  restore  the  repute  of  his  political  con- 
nections, thought  fit,  without  consulting  his  colleagues,  to 
publish  a  manifesto  denouncing  the  aggression  of  the  pope  upon 
our  Protestantism  as  insolent  and  insidious,  and  as  expressing  a 
pretension  of  supremacy  over  the  realm  of  England  which 
made  the  minister  indignant. 

A  confused  public  wanted  to  be  led,  and  now  they  were  led. 
They  sprang  to  their  feet  like  an  armed  man.  The  corpora- 
tion of  London,  the  universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  had 
audiences  of  the  queen;  the  counties  met,  the  municipalities 
memorialized;  before  the  first  of  January  there  had  been  held 
nearly  seven  thousand  public  meetings,  asserting  the  supremacy 
of  the  queen,  and  calling  on  her  Majesty's  government  to 
vindicate  it  by  stringent  measures. 

Unfortunately,  it  was  soon  discovered  by  the  minister  that 
there  had  been  nothing  illegal  in  the  conduct  of  the  pope  or 
the  cardinal,  and  a  considerable  portion  of  the  Liberal  party 
began  to  express  the  inconvenient  opinion  that  the  manifesto 
of  their  chief  was  opposed  to  those  principles  of  civil  and 
religious  liberty  of  which  he  was  the  hereditary  champion. 
Some  influential  members  of  his  own  cabinet  did  not  conceal 
their  disapprobation  of  a  step  on  which  they  had  not  been 
consulted. 

Immediately  after  Christmas,  Endymion  and  Lady  Mont- 
fort  settled  in  London.  She  was  anxious  to  open  her  new 
mansion  as  soon  as  Parliament  met,  and  to  organize  continuous 
receptions.  She  looked  upon  the  ministry  as  in  a  critical  state, 
and  thought  it  was  an  occasion  when  social  influences  might 
not  inconsiderably  assist  them. 

But  though  she  exhibited  for  this  object  her  wonted  energy 
and  high  spirit,  a  fine  observer — Mr.  Sidney  Wilton,  for  ex- 
ample— might  have  detected  a  change  in  the  manner  of  Beren- 
garia.  Though  the  strength  of  her  character  was  unaltered, 
there  was  an  absence  of  that  restlessness,  it  might  be  said,  that 


4o8  ENDTMION, 

somewhat  feverish  excitement,  from  which  formerly  she  was 
not  always  free.  The  truth  is  her  heart  was  satisfied,  and  that 
brought  repose.  Feelings  of  affection,  long  mortified  and  pent 
up,  were  now  lavished  and  concentrated  on  a  husband  of  her 
heart  and  adoration,  and  she  was  proud  that  his  success  and 
greatness  might  be  avowed  as  the  objects  of  her  life. 

The  campaign,  however,  for  which  such  preparations  were 
made  ended  almost  before  it  began.  The  ministry,  on  the 
meeting  of  Parliament,  found  themselves  with  a  discontented 
House  of  Commons,  and  discordant  counsels  among  them- 
selves. The  anti-papal  manifesto  was  the  secret  cause  of  this 
evil  state;  but  the  prime-minister,  to  avoid  such  a  mortifying 
admission,  took  advantage  of  two  unfavorable  divisions  on 
other  matters  and  resigned. 

Here  was  a  crisis — another  crisis!  Could  the  untried  Pro- 
tectionists, without  men,  form  an  administration?  It  was 
whispered  that  Lord  Derby  had  been  sent  for  and  declined  the 
attempt.  Then  there  was  another  rumor  that  he  was  going 
to  try.  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  looked  mysterious.  The  time 
for  the  third  party  had  clearly  arrived.  It  was  known  that  he 
had  the  list  of  the  next  ministry  in  his  breast-pocket;  but  it 
was  only  shown  to  Mr.  Tremaine  Bertie,  who  confided  in 
secrecy  to  the  initiated  that  it  was  the  strongest  government 
since  "  All  the  Talents." 

Notwithstanding  this  great  opportunity,  "  All  the  Talents " 
were  not  summoned.  The  leader  of  the  Protectionists  re- 
nounced the  attempt  in  despair,  and  the  author  of  the  anti- 
papal  manifesto  was  again  sent  for  and  obliged  to  introduce  the 
measure  which  had  already  destroyed  a  government  and  disor- 
ganized a  party, 

"Sidney  Wilton,"  said  Lady  Montfort  to  her  husband, 
"  says  that  they  are  in  the  mud,  and  he',  for  one,  will  not  go 
back.  But  he  will  go.  I  know  him.  He  is  too  soft-hearted 
to  stand  an  appeal  from  colleagues  in  distress.  But  were  I  you, 
Endymion,  I  would  not  return.  I  think  you  want  a  little  rest, 
or  you  have  got  a  great  deal  of  private  business  to  attend  to, 
or  something  of  that  kind.  Nobody  notices  the  withdrawal  of 
an  under-secretary  except  those  in  ofiice.  There  is  no  neces- 
sity why  you  should  be  in  the  mud.  I  will  continue  to  receive 
and  do  everything  that  is  possible  for  our  friends,  but  I  think 
my  husband  has  been  an  under-secretary  long  enough." 

Endymion  quite  agreed  with  his  wife.  The  minister  oflfered 
him  preferment  and  the  privy  council,  but  Lady  Mont\Ort  said 


END  I'M  I  ON,  409 

it  was  really  not  so  important  as  the  office  he  had  resigned. 
She  was  resolved  that  he  should  not  return  to  them,  and  she 
had  her  way.  Ferrars  himself  now  occupied  a  rather  peculiar 
position,  being  the  master  of  a  great  fortune  and  of  an  estab- 
lishment which  was  the  headquarters  of  the  party  of  which  he 
was  now  only  a  private  member;  but,  calm  and  collected,  he 
did  not  lose  his  head;  always  said  and  did  the  right  thing,  and 
never  forgot  his  early  acquaintances.  Trenchard  was  his 
bosom  political  friend.  Seymour  Hicks,  who,  through  En- 
dymion's  kindness,  had  now  got  into  the  Treasury,  and  was 
quite  fashionable,  had  the  run  of  the  House,  and  made  himself 
marvellously  useful;  while  St.  Barbe,  who  had  become  by 
mistake  a  member  of  the  Conservative  club,  drank  his  frequent 
claret  cup  every  Saturday  evening  at  Lady  Montfort's  recep- 
tions with  many  pledges  to  the  welfare  of  the  Liberal  admin- 
istration. 

The  flag  of  the  Tory  party  waved  over  the  magnificent 
mansion  of  which  Imogene  Beaumaris  was  the  graceful  life. 
As  parties  were  nearly  equal,  and  the  ministry  was  supposed 
to  be  in  decay,  the  rival  reception  was  as  well  attended  as  that 
of  Berengaria.  The  two  great  leaders  were  friends,  intimate, 
but  not,  perhaps,  quite  so  intimate  as  a  few  years  before. 
"  Lady  Montfort  is  very  kind  to  me,"  Imogene  would  say, 
"  but  I  do  not  think  she  now  quite  remembers  we  are  cousins." 
Both  Lord  and  Lady  Waldershare  seemed  equally  devoted  to 
Lady  Beaumaris.  "  I  do  not  think,"  he  would  say,  "  that  I 
shall  ever  get  Adriana  to  receive.  It  is  an  organic  gift,  and 
very  rare.  What  I  mean  to  do  is  to  have  a  first-rate  villa  and 
give  the  party  strawberries.  I  always  say  Adriana  is  like 
Nell  Gwynn,  and  she  shall  go  about  with  a  pottle.  One  never 
sees  a  pottle  of  strawberries  now.  I  believe  they  went  out, 
like  all  good  things,  with  the  Stuarts." 

And  so,  after  all  these  considerable'  events,  the  season  rolled 
on,  and  closed  tranquilly.  Lord  and  Lady  Hainault  continued 
to  give  banquets,  over  which  the  hostess  sighed;  Sir  Peter 
Vigo  had  the  wisdom  to  retain  his  millions,  which  few  manage 
to  do,  as  it  is  admitted  that  it  is  easier  to  make  a  fortune  than 
to  keep  one.  Mrs.  Rodney,  supremely  habited,  still  drove  her 
ponies,  looking  younger  and  prettier  than  ever,  and  getting 
more  fashionable  every  day,  and  Mr.  Ferrars  and  Berengaria, 
Countess  of  Montfort,  retired  in  the  summer  to  their  beautiful 
and  beloved  Princedown. 


4IO  ENDTMION. 


CHAPTER  C. 

Although  the  past  life  of  Endymion  had,  on  the  whole, 
been  a  happy  life,  and  although  he  was  destined  also  to  a 
happy  future,  perhaps  the  four  years  which  elapsed  from  the 
time  he  quitted  office  certainly  in  his  experience  had  never 
been  exceeded,  and  it  was  difficult  to  imagine  could  be  ex- 
ceeded, in  felicity.  He  had  a  great  interest,  and  even  growing 
influence,  in  public  life,  without  any  of  its  cares;  he  was  united 
to  a  woman  whom  he  had  long  passionately  loved,  and  who 
had  every  quality  and  accomplishment  to  make  existence  de- 
lightful; he  was  master  of  a  fortune  which  secured  him  all 
those  advantages  which  are  appreciated  by  men  of  taste  and 
generosity.  He  became  a  father,  and  a  family  name  which 
had  been  originally  borne  by  a  courtier  of  the  elder  Stuarts  was 
now  bestowed  on  the  future  lord  of  Prlncedown. 

Lady  Montfort  herself  had  no  thought  but  of  her  husband. 
His  happiness,  his  enjoyment  of  existence,  his  success  and 
power  in  life,  entirely  absorbed  her.  The  anxiety  which  she 
felt  that  in  everything  he  should  be  master  was  touching.  One 
looked  upon  as  the  most  imperious  of  women,  she  would  not 
give  a  direction  on  any  matter  without  his  opinion  and  sanction. 
One  would  have  supposed,  from  what  might  be  observed  under 
their  roof,  that  she  was  some  beautiful  but  portionless  maiden 
whom  Endymion  had  raised  to  wealth  and  power. 

All  this  time,  however,  Lady  Montfort  sedulously  maintained 
that  commanding  position  in  social  politics  for  which  she  was 
singularly  fitted.  Indeed,  in  that  respect  she  had  no  rival. 
She  received  the  world  with  the  same  constancy  and  splendor 
as  if  she  were  the  wife  of  a  minister.  Animated  by  Walder- 
share.  Lady  Beaumaris  maintained  in  this  respect  a  certain 
degree  of  rivalry.  She  was  tlie  only  hope  and  refuge  of  the 
Tories,  and,  rich,  attractive,  and  popular,  her  competition  could 
not  be  disregarded.  But  Lord  Beaumaris  was  a  little  freakish. 
Sometimes  he  would  sail  in  his  yacht  to  odd  places,  and  was  at 
Algiers  or  in  Egypt  when,  according  to  Tadpole,  he  ought  to 
have  been  at  Piccadilly  Terrace.  Then  he  occasionally  got 
crusty  about  his  hunting.  He  would  hunt,  whatever  were  the 
political  consequences,  but  whether  he  were  in  Africa  or  Lei- 
cestershire, Imogene  must  be  with  him.  He  could  not  exist 
without  her  constant  presence.  There  was  something  in  her 
gentleness,  combined  with  her  quick  and  ready  sympathy  and 


ENDTMION,  411 

playfulness   of   mind    and   manner,  which  alike  pleased   and 
soothed  his  life. 

The  Whigs  tottered  on  for  a  year  after  the  rude  assault  of 
Cardinal  Penruddock,  but  they  were  doomed,  and  the  Pro- 
tectionists were  called  upon  to  form  an  administration.  As 
they  had  no  one  in  their  ranks  who  had  ever  been  in  office 
except  their  chief,  who  was  in  the  House  of  Lords,  the  affiiir 
seemed  impossible.  The  attempt,  however,  could  not  be 
avoided.  A  dozen  men,  without  the  slightest  experience  of 
official  life,  had  to  be  sworn  in  as  privy-councillors,  before  even 
they  could  receive  the  seals  and  insignia  of  their  intended 
offices.  On  their  knees,  according  to  the  constitutional  custom, 
a  dozen  men,  all  in  the  act  of  genuflection  at  the  same 
moment,  and  headed,  too,  by  one  of  the  most  powerful  peers  in 
the  country,  the  Lord  of  Alnwick  Castle,  himself,  humbled 
themselves  before  a  female  sovereign,  who  looked  serene  and 
imperturable  before  a  spectacle  never  seen  before,  and  which, 
in  all  probability,  will  never  be  seen  again. 

One  of  this  band — a  gentleman  without  any  official  experi- 
ence whatever — was  not  only  placed  in  the  cabinet,  but  was 
absolutely  required  to  become  the  leader  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, which  had  never  occurred  before,  except  in  the  instance 
of  Mr.  Pitt  in  1782.  It  has  been  said  that  it  was  unwise  in  the 
Protectionists  assuming  office  when,  on  this  occasion  and  on 
subsequent  ones,  they  were  far  from  being  certain  of  a  majority 
in  the  House  of  Commons.  It  should,  however,  be  remem- 
bered that  unless  they  had  dared  these  ventures  they  never 
could  have  formed  a  body  of  men  competent,  from  their  oflicial 
experience,  and  their  practice  in  debate,  to  form  a  ministry. 
The  result  has  rather  proved  that  they  were  right.  Had  they 
continued  to  refrain  from  incurring  responsibility,  they  must 
have  broken  up  and  merged  in  different  connections,  which, 
for  a  party  numerically  so  strong  as  the  Protectionists,  would 
have  been  a  sorry  business,  and  probably  have  led  to  disas- 
trous results. 

Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  having  been  requested  to  call  on  the 
Protectionist  prime-minister,  accordingly  repaired  to  head- 
quarters with  the  list  of  his  colleagues  in  his  pocket.  He  was 
offered  for  himself  a  post  of  little  real  importance,  but  which 
secured  to  him  the  dignity  of  the  privy  council.  Mr.  Tremaine 
Bertie  and  several  of  his  friends  had  assembled  at  his  house, 
awaiting  with  anxiety  his  return.  He  had  to  communicate  to 
them  that  he  had  been  offered  a  privy-councillor's  post,  and  to 


412  ENDTMION, 

break  to  them  that  it  was  not  proposed  to  provide  for  any  other 
member  of  his  party.  Their  indignation  was  extreme;  but 
they  naturally  supposed  that  he  had  rejected  the  offer  to  himself 
with  becoming  scorn.  Their  leader,  however,  informecttthem  that 
he  had  not  felt  it  his  duty  to  be  so  peremptory.  They  should  re- 
member that  the  recognition  of  their  political  status  by  such  an 
offer  to  their  chief  was  a  considerable  event.  For  his  part,  he 
had  for  some  time  been  painfully  aware  that  the  influence  of 
the  House  of  Commons  in  the  constitutional  scheme  was  fast 
waning,  and  that  the  plan  of  Sir  William  Temple  for  the  reor- 
ganization of  the  privy  council,  and  depositing  in  it  the  real 
authority  of  the  State,  was  that  to  which  we  should  be  obliged 
to  have  recourse.  This  offer  to  him  of  a  seat  in  the  council 
was,  perhaps,  the  beginning  of  the  end.  It  was  a  crisis ;  they 
must  look  to  seats  in  the  privy  council,  which,  under  Sir 
William  Temple's  plan,  would  be  accompanied  with  minis- 
terial duties  and  salaries.  What  they  had  all,  at  one  time, 
wished  had  not  exactly  been  accomplished,  but  he  had  felt  it 
his  duty  to  his  friends  not  to  shrink  from  responsibility.  So  he 
had  accepted  the  minister's  offer. 

Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine  was  not  long  in  the  busy  enjoyment 
of  his  easy  post.  Then  the  country  was  governed  for  two 
years  by  all  its  ablest  men,  who,  by  the  end  of  that  term  had 
succeeded,  by  their  coalesced  genius,  in  reducing  that  country 
to  a  state  of  desolation  and  despair.  "  I  did  not  think  it  would 
have  lasted  even  so  long,"  said  Lady  Montfort;  "but  then  I 
was  acquainted  with  their  mutual  hatreds  and  their  characteristic 
weaknesses.  What  is  to  happen  now?  Somebody  must  be 
found  of  commanding  private  character  and  position,  and  with 
as  little  damaged  a  public  one  as  in  this  wreck  of  reputations  is 
possible.  I  see  nobody  but  Sidney  Wilton.  Everybody  likes 
him,  and  he  is  the  only  man  who  could  bring  people  together." 

And  everybody  seemed  to  be  saying  the  same  thing  at  the 
same  time.  The  name  of  Sidney  Wilton  was  in  everybody's 
mouth.  It  was  unfortunate  that  he  had  been  a  member  of  the 
defunct  ministry,  but  then  it  had  always  been  understood  that 
he  had  always  disapproved  of  all  their  measures.  There  was 
not  the  slightest  evidence  of  this,  but  everybody  chose  to  be- 
lieve it. 

Sidney  Wilton  was  chagrined  with  life,  and  had  become  a 
martyr  to  the  gout,  which  that  chagrin  had  aggravated;  but 
he  was  a  great  gentleman,  and  too  chivalric  to  refuse  a  royal 
command  when  the  sovereign  was  in  distress.     Sidney  Wilton 


END  r MI  ON,  413 

became  premier,  and  the  first  collca^^uc  he  recommended  to  fill 
the  most  important  post  after  his  own,  the  Secretaryship  of 
State  for  Foreign  Affairs,  was  Mr.  Ferrars. 

"  It  ought  to  hist  ten  years,"  said  Lady  Montfort.  "  I  see  no 
danger  except  his  health.  I  never  knew  a  man  so  changed. 
At  his  time  of  life  five  years  ought  to  make  no  difference  in  a 
man.  I  cannot  believe  he  is  the  person  who  used  to  give  us 
those  charming  parties  at  Gaydenc.  Whatever  you  may  say, 
Endymion,  I  feel  convinced  that  something  must  have  passed 
between  your  sister  and  him.  Neither  of  them  ever  gave  me 
a  hint  of  such  a  matter,  or  of  the  possibility  of  its  ever  hap- 
pening, but  feminine  instinct  assures  me  that  something  took 
place.  He  always  had  the  gout,  and  his  ancestors  have  had 
the  gout  for  a  couple  of  centuries;  and  all  prime-ministers 
have  the  gout.  I  dare  say  you  will  not  escape,  darling,  but  I 
hope  it  will  never  make  you  look  as  if  you  had  just  lost  para- 
dise, or,  what  would  be  worse,  become  the  last  man." 

"  Lady  Montfort  was  right.  The  ministry  was  strong  and 
it  was  popular.  There  were  no  jealousies  in  it;  every  member 
was  devoted  to  his  chief,  and  felt  that  he  was  rightly  the  chief, 
whereas,  as  Lady  Montfort  said,  the  Whigs  never  had  a  min- 
istry before  in  which  there  were  not  at  least  a  couple  of  men 
who  had  been  prime-ministers,  and  as  many  more  who  thought 
they  ought  to  be. 

There  were  years  of  war,  and  of  vast  and  critical  negotia- 
tions. Ferrars  was  equal  to  the  duties,  for  he  had  much  ex- 
perience and  more  thought,  and  he  was  greatly  aided  by  the 
knowledge  of  affairs,  and  the  clear  and  tranquil  judgment  of 
the  chief  minister.  There  was  only  one  subject  on  which 
there  was  not  between  them  that  complete  and  cordial  unanmi- 
ity  which  was  so  agreeable  and  satisfactory.  And  even  in 
this  case  there  was  no  difference  of  opinion,  but  rather  of  senti- 
ment and  feeling.  It  was  when  King  Florestan  expressed  his 
desire  to  join  the  grand  alliance,  and  become  our  active  military 
ally.  It  was  perhaps  impossible,  under  any  circumstances,  for 
the  Powers  to  refuse  such  an  offer,  but  Endymion  was  strongly 
in  favor  of  accepting  it.  It  consolidated  our  interests  in  a  part 
of  Europe  where  we  required  sympathy  and  support,  and  it 
secured  for  us  the  aid  and  influence  of  the  great  Liberal  party 
of  the  Continent  as  distinguished  from  the  secret  societies  and 
the  socialist  republicans.  The  Count  of  Ferroll,  also,  whose 
opinion  weighed  much  with  her  Majesty's  government,  was  de- 
cidedly in  favor  of  the  combination.     The  English  prime-min-j 


414  ENDTMION 

ister  listened  to  their  representations  frigidly ;  it  was  difficult  to 
refute  the  arguments  which  were  adverse  to  his  own  feelings, 
and  to  resist  the  unanimous  opinion  not  only  of  his  colleagues, 
but  of  our  allies.  But  he  was  cold  and  silent,  or  made  dis- 
couraorino^  remarks. 

"  Can  you  trust  him  ?"  he  would  say.  "  Remember  he  him- 
self has  been,  and  still  is,  a  member  of  the  very  secret  societies 
whose  baneful  influence  we  are  now  told  he  will  neutralize  or 
subdue.  Whatever  the  cabinet  decides,  and  I  fear  that  with 
this  strong  expression  of  opinion  on  the  part  of  our  allies  we 
have  little  option  left,  remember  I  gave  you  my  warning.  I 
know  the  gentleman,  and  do  not  trust  him." 

After  this,  the  prime  minister  had  a  most  severe  attack  of  the 
gout,  remained  for  weeks  at  Gaydene,  and  saw  no  one  on  busi- 
ness except  Endymion  and  Baron  Sergius. 

While  the  time  is  elapsing  which  can  alone  decide  whether 
the  distrust  of  Mr.  Wilton  were  well  founded  or  the  reverse, 
let  us  see  how  the  world  is  treating  the  rest  of  our  friends. 

Lord  Waldershare  did  not  make  such  a  pattern  husband  as 
Endymion,  but  he  made  a  much  better  one  than  the  world  ever 
supposed  he  would.  Had  he  married  Berengaria,  the  failure 
would  have  been  great;  but  he  was  united  to  a  being  capable 
of  deep  affection  and  very  sensitive,  yet  grateful  for  kindness 
from  a  husband  to  a  degree  not  easily  imaginable.  And  Wal- 
dershare had  really  a  good  heart,  though  a  bad  temper,  and  he 
was  a  gentleman.  Besides,  he  had  a  great  admiration  and 
some  awe  of  his  father-in-law,  and  Lord  Hainault,  with  his 
good-natured  irony,  and  consummate  knowledge  of  men  and 
things,  quite  controlled  him.  With  Lady  Hainault  he  was  a 
favorite.  He  invented  plausible  theories  and  brilliant  para- 
doxes for  her,  which  left  her  always  in  a  state  of  charmed 
wonder;  and  when  she  met  him  again,  and  adopted  or  refuted 
them,  for  her  intellectual  power  was  considerable,  he  furnished 
her  with  fresh  dogmas  and  tenets,  which  immediately  interested 
her  intelligence,  though  she  generally  forgot  to  observe  that 
they  were  contrary  to  the  views  and  principles  of  the  last  visit. 
Between  Adriana  and  Imogene  there  was  a  close  alliance, 
and  Lady  Beaumaris  did  everything  in  her  power  to  develop 
Lady  Waldershare  advantageously  before  her  husband;  and 
so,  not  forgetting  that  Waldershare,  with  his  romance,  and 
imagination  and  fancy,  and  taste  and  caprice,  had  a  consider- 
able element  of  worldliness  in  his  character,  and  that  he  liked 
to  feel   that,  from  living  in  lodgings,  he  had  become  a  Monte 


ENDTMION.  415 

Christo,  his  union  with  Adriana  may  be  said  to  be  a  happy  and 
successful  one. 

The  friendship  between  Sir  Peter  Vigo  and  his  brother  M. 
P.,  Mr.  Rodney,  never  diminished,  and  Mr.  Rodney  became 
richer  every  year.  He  experienced  considerable  remorse  at 
sitting  in  opposition  to  the  son  of  his  right  honorable  friend 
the  late  William  Pitt  Ferrars,  and  frequently  consulted  Sit 
Peter  on  his  embarrassment  and  difficulty.  Sir  Peter,  who 
never  declined  arranging  any  difficulty,  told  his  friend  to  be 
easy,  and  that  he.  Sir  Peter,  saw  his  way.  It  became  gradually 
understood  that  if  ever  the  government  was  in  difficulties,  Mr. 
Rodney's  vote  might  be  counted  on.  He  was  peculiarly  situ- 
ated, for,  in  a  certain  sense,  his  friend  the  Right  Hon.  William  Pitt 
Ferrars  had  intrusted  the  guardianship  of  his  child  to  his  care. 
But  whenever  the  ministry  was  not  in  danger,  the  ministry 
must  not  depend  upon  his  vote. 

Trenchard  had  become  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  in  the 
Wilton  administration,  had  established  his  reputation,  and  was 
looked  upon  as  a  future  minister.  Jawett,  without  forfeiting 
his  post  and  promotion  at  Somerset  House,  had  become  the 
editor  of  a  new  periodical  magazine  called  the  Privy  Council. 
It  was  established  and  maintained  by  Mr.  Bertie  Tremaine,  and 
was  chiefly  written  by  that  gentleman  himself.  It  was  full  of 
Greek  quotations,  to  show  that  it  was  not  Grub  Street,  and 
written  in  a  style  as  like  that  of  Sir  William  Temple  as  a  paper 
in  "  Rejected  Addresses"  might  resemble  the  classic  lucubrations 
of  the  statesman-sage  who,  it  is  hoped,  will  be  always  remem- 
bered by  a  grateful  country  for  having  introduced  into  these 
islands  the  Moor  Park  apricot.  What  the  pages  of  the  Privy 
Council  meant,  no  human  being  had  the  slightest  conception 
except  Mr.  Tremaine  Bertie. 

Mr.  Thornberry  remained  a  respected  member  of  the  cabi- 
net. It  was  thought  his  presence  there  secured  the  sympa- 
thies of  advanced  Liberalism  throughout  the  country;  but 
that  was  a  tradition  rather  than  a  fact..  Statesmen  in  high 
places  are  not  always  so  well  acquainted  with  the  changes  and 
gradations  of  opinion  in  political  parties  at  home  as  they  are 
with  those  abroad.  We  hardly  mark  the  growth  of  the  tree 
we  see  every  day.  Mr.  Thornberry  had  long  ceased  to 
be  popular  with  his  former  friends,  and  the  fact  that  he  had 
become  a  minister  was  one  of  the  causes  of  this  change  of 
feeling.  That  was  unreasonable,  but  in  politics  unreasonable 
circumstances  are  elements  of  the  problem  to  be  solved.     It 


4i6  ENDTMION. 

was  generally  understood  that,  on  the  next  election,  Mr.  Thorn- 
berry  would  have  to  look  out  for  another  seat.  His  chief 
constituents,  those  who  are  locally  styled  the  leaders  of  the 
party,  were  still  faithful  to  him,  for  they  were  proud  of  having 
a  cabinet  minister  for  their  member,  to  be  presented  by  him  at 
court,  and  occasionally  to  dine  with  him ;  but  the  "  masses," 
who  do  not  go  to  court  and  are  never  asked  to  dinner,  required 
a  member  who  would  represent  their  whims,  and  it  was  quite 
understood  that,  on  the  very  first  occasion,  this  enlightened 
community  had  resolved  to  send  up  to  Westminster — Mr. 
Enoch  Craggs, 

It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  in  his  private  life  Job  found  af- 
fairs altogether  more  satisfactory  than  in  his  public.  His  wife 
had  joined  the  Roman  communion.  An  ingrained  perverse- 
ness,  which  prevented  his  son  from  ever  willingly  following 
the  advice  or  example  of  his  parents,  had  preserved  John 
Hampden  to  the  Anglican  faith;  but  he  had  portraits  of  Laud 
and  Strafford  over  his  mantel-piece,  and  embossed  in  golden 
letters  on  a  purple  ground  the  magical  word  "  Thorough."  His 
library  chiefly  consisted  of  the  "  Tracts  for  the  Timos,"  and  a 
colossal  edition  of  the  Fathers  gorgeously  bound.  He  was  a 
very  clever  fellow,  this  young  Thornberry,  a  natural  orator, 
and  was  leader  of  the  High-Church  party  in  the  Oxford  Union. 
He  brought  home  his  friends  occasionally  to  Hurstley,  and  Job 
had  the  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  a  class  and 
school  of  humanity  with  which,  notwithstanding  his  consider- 
able experience  of  life,  he  had  no  previous  knowledge — young 
gentlemen,  apparently  half-starved  and  dressed  like  priests,  and 
sometimes  an  enthusiastic  young  noble,  in  much  better  physical 
condition,  and  in  costume  becoming  a  cavalier,  ready  to  raise 
the  royal  standard  at  Edgehill.  What  a  little  annoyed  Job 
was  that  his  son  always  addressed  him  as  "  Squire,"  a  habit 
even  pedantically  followed  by  his  companions.  He  was,  how- 
ever, justly  entitled  to  this  ancient  and  reputable  honor,  for  Job 
had  been  persuaded  to  purchase  Hurstley,  was  a  lord  of  several 
thousand  acres  and  had  the  boar's  head  carried  in  procession 
at  Christmas,  in  his  ancient  hall.  It  is  strange,  but  he  was 
rather  perplexed  than  annoyed  by  all  these  marvellous  meta- 
morphoses in  his  life  and  family.  His  intelligence  was  as  clear 
as  ever,  and  his  views  on  all  subjects  unchanged ;  but  he  was, 
like  many  other  men,  governed  at  home  by  his  affections.  He 
preferred  the  new  arrangement,  if  his  wife  and  family  were 
happy  and  contented,  to  a  domestic  system  founded  on  his  own 


ENDTMION,  417 

principles,  accompanied  by  a  sullen  or  shrewish  partner  of  his 
life  and  rebellions  offspring. 

What  really  vexed  him,  among  comparatively  lesser  matters, 
w^as  the  extraordinary  passion  which  in  time  his  son  imbibed 
for  game-preserving.  He  did  at  last  interfere  in  this  matter, 
but  in  vain.  John  Hampden  announced  that  he  did  not  value 
land  if  he  was  only  to  look  at  it,  and  that  sport  was  the  patri- 
otic pastime  of  an  English  gentleman.  "  You  used  in  old  days 
never  to  be  satisfied  with  what  I  got  out  of  the  land,"  said  the 
old  grandfather  to  Job,  with  a  little  amiable  malice;  "there  is 
enough,  at  any  rate,  now  for  the  hares  and  rabbits,  but  I  doubt 
for  anybody  else." 

We  must  not  forget  our  old  friend  St.  Barbe.  Whether  he 
had  written  himself  out  or  had  become  lazy  m  the  luxurious 
life  in  which  he  now  indulged,  he  rarely  appealed  to  the  liter- 
ary public,  which  still  admired  him.  He  was  always  intimat- 
ing that  he  was  engaged  in  a  great  work,  which,  though  writ- 
ten in  his  taking  prose,  was  to  be  really  the  epopee  of  social 
life  in  this  country.  Dining  out  every  day,  and  ever  arriving, 
however  late,  at  those  "small  and  earlies"  which  he  once  de- 
spised, he  gave  to  his  friends  frequent  intimations  that  he  was 
not  there  for  pleasure,  but  rather  following  his  profession;  he 
was  in  his  studio,  observing  and  reflecting  on  all  the  passions 
and  manners  of  mankind,  and  gathering  materials  for  the  great 
work  which  was  eventually  to  enchant  and  instruct  society  and 
immortalize  his  name. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  wrote  too  early,"  be  would  say.  "  I  blush 
when  I  read  my  own  books,  though  compared  with  those  of 
the  brethren  they  might  still  be  looked  on  as  classics.  They 
say  no  artist  can  draw  a  camel,  and  I  say  no  author  ever  drew 
a  gentleman.  How  can  they,  with  no  opportunity  of  ever 
seeing  one?  And  so,  with  a  little  caricature  of  manners, 
which  they  catch  second-hand,  they  are  obliged  to  have  re- 
course to  outrageous  nonsense,  as  if  polished  life  consisted 
only  of  bigamists,  and  ladies  of  fashion  were  in  the  habit  of 
paying  black-mail  to  returned  convicts.  However,  1  shall 
put  an  end  to  all  this.  I  have  now  got  the  materials,  or  am 
accumulating  them  daily.  You  hint  that  I  give  myself  up  too 
much  to  society.  You  are  talking  of  things  you  do  not  un- 
derstand. A  dinner  party  is  a  chapter.  I  catch  the  Cynthia 
of  the  minute,  sir,  at  a  soiree.  If  I  only  served  a  grateful 
country,  I  should  be  in  the  proudest  position  of  any  of  its  sons; 
if  I  had  been   born  in  any  country  but  this,   I  should  have 


4i8  END  r MI  ON. 

been  decorated,  and  perhaps  made  Secretary  of  State,  like  Ad- 
dison, who  did  not  write  as  well  as  I  do,  though  his  style 
somewhat  resembles  mine." 

Notwithstanding  these  great  plans,  it  came  in  time  to  En- 
dymion's  ears  that  poor  St.  Barbe  was  in  terrible  straits. 
Endymion  delicately  helped  him,  and  then  obtained  for  him  a 
pension,  and  not  an  inconsiderable  one.  Relieved  from  anx- 
iety, St.  Barbe  resumed  his  ancient  and  natural  vein.  He 
passed  his  days  in  decrying  his  friend  and  patron,  and  compar- 
ing his  miserable  pension  with  the  salary  of  a  secretary  of  state, 
who,  so  far  as  his  experience  went,  was  generally  a  second- 
rate  man.  Endymion,  though  he  knew  St.  Barbe  was  always 
decrying  him,  only  smiled,  and  looked  upon  it  all  as  the 
necessary  consequence  of  his  organization,  which  involved  a 
singular  combination  of  vanity  and  envy  in  the  highest  degree. 
St.  Barbe  was  not  less  a  guest  in  Carlton  Terrace  than  hereto- 
fore, and  was  even  kindly  invited  to  Princedown  to  profit  by 
the  distant  sea-breeze.  Lady  Montfort,  whose  ears  some  of 
his  pranks  had  reached,  was  not  so  tolerant  as  her  husband. 
She  gave  him  one  day  her  views  of  his  conduct.  St.  Barbe 
was  always  a  little  afraid  of  her,  and  on  this  occasion  entirely 
lost  himself;  vented  the  most  solemn  affirmations  that  there 
was  not  a  grain  of  truth  in  these  charges;  that  he  was  the 
victim,  as  he  had  been  all  his  life,  of  slander  and  calumny — the 
sheer  creatures  of  envy — and  then  began  to  fawn  upon  his 
hostess,  and  declared  that  he  had  ever  thought  there  was  some- 
thing godlike  in  the  character  of  her  husband. 

"  And  what  is  there  in  yours,  Mr.  St.  Barbe.?  "  asked  Lady 
Montfort. 

Tke  ministry  had  lasted  several  years,  its  foreign  policy  had 
been  successful;  it  had  triumphed  in  war  and  secured  peace. 
The  military  conduct  of  the  troops  of  King  Florestan  had  con- 
tributed to  these  results,  and  the  popularity  of  that  sovereign  in 
England  was  for  a  foreigner  unexampled.  During  this  agitated 
interval,  Endymion  and  Myra  had  met  more  than  once,  through 
the  providential  medium  of  those  favored  spots  of  nature — Ger- 
man baths. 

There  had  arisen  a  public  feeling  that  the  ally  who  had 
served  us  so  well  should  be  invited  to  visit  again  a  country 
wherein  he  had  so  long  sojourned,  and  where  he  was  so  much 
appreciated.  The  only  evidence  that  the  prime-minister  gave 
that  he  was  conscious  of  this  feeling  was  an  attack  of  gout. 
Endymion  himself,  though  in  a  difficult  and  rather  painful  posi- 


ENDTMION,  419 

tion  In  this  matter,  did  everything  to  shield  and  protect  his 
chief,  but  the  general  sentiment  became  so  strong,  sanctioned 
too,  as  it  was  understood,  in  the  highest  quarter,  that  it  could 
no  longer  be  passed  by  unnoticed;  and,  in  due  time,  to  the  great 
delight  and  satisfaction  of  the  nation,  an  impending  visit  from 
our  faithful  ally  King  Florestan,  and  his  beautiful  wife.  Queen 
Myra,  was  authoritatively  announced. 

Every  preparation  was  made  to  show  them  honor.  They 
were  the  guests  of  our  sovereign;  but  from  the  palace,  which 
they  were  to  inhabit,  to  the  humblest  tenement  in  the  meanest 
back-street,  there  was  only  one  feeling  of  gratitude  and  regard 
and  admiration.  The  English  people  are  the  most  enthusi- 
astic people  in  the  world ;  there  are  other  populations  wdiich 
are  more  excitable,  but  there  is  no  nation,  when  it  feels,  where 
the  sentiment  is  so  profound  and  irresistible. 

The  hour  arrived.  The  season  and  the  weather  were  favor- 
able. From  the  port  where  they  landed  to  their  arrival  at  the 
metropolis,  the  whole  country  seemed  poured  out  into  the  open 
air;  triumphal  arches,  a  way  of  flags  and  banners,  and  bits  of 
bunting  on  every  hovel.  The  king  and  queen  were  received 
at  the  metropolitan  station  byprinces  of  the  blood,  and  accom- 
panied to  the  palace,  where  the  great  oflicers  of  state  and  the 
assembled  ministry  were  gathered  together  to  do  them  honor. 
A  great  strain  was  thrown  upon  Endymion  throughout  these 
proceedings,  as  the  prime-minister,  who  had  been  suffering  the 
whole  season,  and  rarely  present  in  his  seat  in  Parliament,  was 
at  this  moment  in  his  worst  paroxysm.  He  could  not,  there- 
fore, be  present  at  the  series  of  balls  and  banquets  and  brilliant 
public  functions  which  greeted  the  royal  guests.  Their  visit  to 
the  City,  when  they  dined  with  the  lord  mayor,  and  to 
which  they  drove  in  royal  carriages  through  a  sea  of  popula- 
tion tumultuous  with  devotion,  was  the  most  gratifying  of  all 
these  splendid  receptions,  partly  from  the  associations  of  mys- 
terious power  and  magnificence  connected  with  the  title  and 
character  of  lord  mayor.  The  Duke  of  St.  Angelo,  the  Mar- 
quis  of  Vallombrosa,  and  the  Prince  of  Montserrat  quite  lost 
their  presence  of  mind.  Even  the  Princess  of  Montsemat,  with 
more  quarterings  on  her  own  side  than  any  house  in  Europe, 
confessed  that  she  trembled  when  her  serene  highness  courte- 
sied  before  the  lady  mayoress.  Perhaps  the  most  brilliant,  the 
most  fanciful,  infinitely  the  most  costly,  entertainment  that  was 
given  on  this  memorable  occasion  was  the  festival  at  Hainault. 


420  ENDTMION, 

The  whole  route  from  town  to  the  forest  was  lined  with  thous- 
ands, perhaps  hundreds  of  thousands,  of  spectators ;  a  thousand 
guests  were  received  at  the  banquet,  and  twelve  palaces  were 
raised  by  that  true  magician  Mr.  Benjamin  Edington,  in  the 
Park,  for  the  countless  visitors  in  the  evening.  At  night  the 
forest  was  illuminated.  Everybody  was  glad,  except  Lady 
Hainault,  who  sighed,  and  said,  "  I  have  no  doubt  the  queen 
would  have  preferred  her  own  room,  and  that  we  should  have 
had  a  quiet  dinner,  as  in  old  days,  in  the  little  Venetian  parlor." 

When  Endymion  returned  home  at  night,  he  found  a  sum- 
mons to  Gayclene ;  the  prime-minister  being,  it  was  feared,  in  a 
dangerous  state. 

The  next  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  there  was  a  rumor  that 
the  prime-minister  had  resigned.  Then  it  was  authoritatively 
contradicted,  and  then  at  night  another  rumor  rose  that  the 
minister  had  resigned,  but  that  the  resignation  would  not  be 
accepted  until  after  the  termination  of  the  royal  visit.  The 
king  and  queen  had  yet  to  remain  a  short  week. 

The  fact  is,  the  resignation  had  taken  place,  but  it  was 
known  only  to  those  who  then  could  not  have  imparted  the 
intelligence.  The  public  often  conjectures  the  truth,  though  it 
clothes  its  impression  or  information  in  the  vague  shape  of  a 
rumor.  In  four-and-twenty  hours  the  great  fact  was  authori- 
tatively announced  in  all  the  journals,  with  leading  articles 
speculating  on  the  successor  to  the  able  and  accomplished  min- 
ister of  whose  services  the  sovereign  and  the  country  were  so 
unhappily  deprived.  Would  his  successor  be  found  in  his  own 
cabinet?  And  then  several  names  were  mentioned — Raw- 
chester,  to  Lady  Montfort's  disgust.  Rawchester  was  a  safe 
man,  and  had  had  much  experience,  which,  as  with  most 
safe  men,  probably  left  him  as  wise  and  able  as  before  he  im- 
bibed it.  Would  there  be  altogether  a  change  of  parties? 
Would  the  Protectionists  try  again?  They  were  very  strong, 
but  always  in  a  minority,  like  some  great  Continental  powers, 
who  have  the  finest  army  in  the  world,  and  yet  always  get 
beaten.  Would  that  band  of  self-admiring  geniuses,  who  had 
upset  every  cabinet  w^ith  whom  they  were  ever  connected,  re- 
turn on  the  shoulders  of  the  people,  as  they  always  dreamed, 
though  they  were  always  the  persons  of  whom  the  people 
never  seemed  to  think  ? 

Lady  Montfort  was  in  a  state  of  passive  excitement.  She 
was  quite  pale,  and  she  remained  quite  pale  for  hours.     She 


END  r MI  ON.  421 

would  see  no  "one.  She  sat  in  Endymlon's  room,  and  never 
spoke,  while  he  continued  writing  and  transacting  his  affairs. 
She  thought  she  was  reading  the  Morning  Post^  but  really 
coula  not  distinguish  the  advertisements  from  leading  articles. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  library  door,  and  the  groom  of  the 
chambers  brought  in  a  note  for  Endymion.  He  glanced  at  the 
handwriting  of  the  address,  and  then  opened  it,  as  pale  as  his 
wife.  Then  he  read  it  again,  and  then  he  gave  it  to  her.  She 
threw  her  eyes  over  it,  and  then  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  Order  my  brougham  at  three  o'clock." 


CHAPTER  CI. 

Endymion  was  with  his  sister. 

"  How  dear  of  you  to  come  to  me,"  she  said, "  when  you  can- 
not have  a  moment  to  yourself! " 

"  Well,  you  know,"  he  replied, "  it  is  not  like  forming  a  gov- 
ernment. That  is  an  affair.  I  have  reason  to  think  all  my  col- 
leagues will  remain  with  me.  I  shall  summon  them  for  this 
afternoon;  and  if  we  agree,  affairs  will  go  on  as  before.  I 
should  like  to  get  down  to  Gaydene  to-night." 

"  To-night ! "  said  the  queen,  musingly.  "  We  have  only 
one  day  left,  and  I  wanted  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  if  possible ;  I  need  not  say  that." 

"  It  is  not  difficult  to  do,  if  we  have  time — if  we  have  to- 
morrow morning,  and  go  early.  But  if  you  go  to  Gaydene 
you  will  hardly  return  to-night,  and  I  shall  lose  my  chance — 
and  yet  it  is  to  me  a  business  most  precious." 

"  It  shall  be  managed ;  tell  me  then." 

"  I  learned  that  Hill  Street  is  not  occupied  at  this  moment. 
I  want  to  visit  the  old  house  with  you,  before  I  leave  England, 
probably  forever.  I  have  only  got  the  early  morn  to-morrow, 
but  with  a  veil  and  your  brougham  I  think  we  might  depart 
unobserved,  before  the  crowd  begins  to  assemble.  Do  you 
think  you  could  be  here  at  nine  o'clock  ?  " 

So  it  was  settled,  and  being  hurried,  he  departed. 

And  next  morning  he  was  at  the  palace  before  nine  o'clock ; 
and  the  queen,  veiled,  entered  his  brougham.  There  were 
already  some  loiterers,  but  the  brother  and  sister  passed  through 
the  gates  unobserved. 

They  reached  Hill  Street.     The  queen  visited  all  the  princi- 


4^2  END  r MI  ON, 

pal  rooms,  and  made  many  remarks  appropriate  to  many 
memories.  "  But,"  she  said,  "  it  was  not  to  see  these  rooms  I 
came,  though  I  was  glad  to  do  so,  and  the  corridor  on  the 
second  story  whence  I  called  out  to  you  when  you  returned, 
and  forever,  from  Eton,  and  told  you  there  was  bad  news. 
What  I  came  for  was  to  see  our  old  nursery,  where  we  lived 
so  long  together  and  so  fondly!  Here  it  is;  here  we  are.  All 
I  have  desired,  all  I  have  dreamed,  has  come  to  pass.  Darling, 
beloved  of  my  soul,  by  all  our  sorrows,  by  all  our  joys,  in  this 
scene  of  our  childhood  and  bygone  days,  let  me  give  you  my 
last  embrace." 


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